Winner Takes All
by Court81981
Summary: Modern AU. Detectives Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen have opposing ideas about their professional partnership and their personal relationship. But one bet and one big case will change everything. A short Everlark fic by request for iLoVeRynMar's bday.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N-**__There exist people in our lives who we will do anything for. They're there for us through good times and bad times, cheer us up when we're sad, celebrate our victories, encourage us, listen to us, and their very presence makes us a better person ourselves._

_iLoVeRynMar is one of these people for me. She is the foot I dipped in the fanfic waters, accepting my offer to beta her brilliant In My Head, In My Heart nearly two years ago. She is more than my sounding board and one of my favorite writers. She is one of the best people I know, and just because we've never had the chance to be in the same room together doesn't lessen our friendship at all._

_We share a mutual love for so many things beyond Everlark…and this ficlet, which started off as a planned one-shot that grew and grew and will now be a short WIP (probably 6 or 7 chapters, estimating 26-30K words to finish), is at her request. It's based on our common adoration for Brooklyn Nine-Nine and in particular, the episode "The Bet." I've taken some liberties with Peralta and Santiago to better reflect canon Peeta and Katniss, as well as with the rules and nature of detective work. All mistakes are mine._

_This will eventually be rated M. _

_RynMar, I love you. Happy Birthday, you amazing lady. May the next year be even better than the last. (I'd save you a seat in MetLife on 11.16 if you could get here, LOL, but you have to settle for this story and some book recommendations instead.)_

* * *

_**~*~Chapter 1~*~**_

* * *

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

"Ten bucks says I can bank this off the coffeemaker and get it to land right in the trash can." I hold up the wadded up report, and arc my arm through the air to loosen it up.

Odair leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, a cocky grin on his face. "No rim."

"That's not what your mom said last night," I fire back, earning a guffaw from him, but a disgusted noise comes from my left. I swivel to flash Cresta my best smile of apology, the one that makes me resemble a guilty puppy dog, and sure enough, her green eyes soften immediately before they cut back to her computer screen.

"Get your wallet out, Odair," I declare, extending my arm and letting the paper fly across the room. As it approaches the table where the nearly empty coffee pot sits, a hand lurches out and snatches the wad mid-air. Everdeen's steely eyes meet mine, and she holds me in place with that cool stare as she deliberately drops the paper into the trash.

"Glad to see we're having a productive Monday morning, Mellark," she says dryly. She stalks past me and heads towards her desk. My eyes follow her perfect ass in those slim tailored pants she always wears.

Odair snorts and crumples up a new sheet of paper. "I don't know why you two don't just fuck and get it over with."

I shoot him a look and snatch the paper from him, firing a line drive at the trashcan. I don't even bother to see if it goes in and instead cut my gaze to Everdeen. She's already settled herself behind her desk, and she's shuffling through a stack of manila folders while her laptop boots up.

I keep watching, waiting for her to begin her little morning ritual: She'll flip through her case files twice (even though she always organizes her paperwork right before she goes home) then she'll choose one cold case to pore over while she drinks her coffee (2% milk and four sugars) and checks her email. She'll pull out her little neon Post-It flags and grab a green pen from her top drawer. She'll gnaw on the end of the pen, those lush lips wrapped around it while she chews, and by the time she's gone with her file, it'll look like the Lucky Charms leprechaun has done a mad jig over the pages.

I've made it a point to notice everything about Detective Katniss Everdeen since she started at my precinct three years ago as a rookie. She makes it a point not to give me the time of day.

Most of the station finds amusement in our situation, needling me about wanting to fuck her. It might be amusing if it weren't true. I'm insanely attracted to her, but it goes beyond her looks and wanting to get her into my bed. There is something about her that undoes me, and I just know we'd be good together—because we make a very good team. Her strengths complement mine, and thus, in the three months since she made detective and we became partners, we've solved a lot of cases and put a lot of scumbags behind bars.

Unfortunately, only one of us is willing to acknowledge how well we work together.

Ah, there goes the green pen. As I wait for Everdeen to tuck the pen between her teeth, my gaze flits to her lips, so full, so inviting, a pale peachy-pink hue without any kind of lipstick or gloss. I spend way too many hours wondering what those lips taste like.

Suddenly she looks up, directly at me. That pretty pink mouth of hers twists into a scowl, but rather than glance away or show any remorse for blatantly staring at her, I prepare that smile again. But I don't get the chance to flash it, because Captain Abernathy coughs loudly to get the room's attention. "Mellark, Everdeen, my office. Five minutes."

Everdeen looks up and barely acknowledges Abernathy with a weak bob of her head. She can be just as standoffish with our boss, and he still seems to favor her over all the other detectives in the precinct. Course no one has ever accused Haymitch Abernathy of being warm and fuzzy.

"Sure thing, Captain." I reply.

Abernathy grunts his approval then barks a few orders at Delly Cartwright, our civilian administrator, and with her usual bubbly enthusiasm, she scurries off after him.

Odair waves an empty disposable coffee cup in front of my face, distracting me from turning my attention back to Everdeen. "Okay, first one to get this to land on its end on the break table buys lunch?"

I grin. "Save that one for tomorrow." He grins back and tosses the cup into the trash, sauntering over to Cresta's desk for some shameless flirting. They don't even hide the fact that they're sleeping together. Not that it's forbidden or anything. The precinct doesn't have any rules against it, and Abernathy's stance, which we've heard many times over the years, is if you're dumb enough to shit where you eat, you reap the consequences. If things go south and you can't handle it, then you get the fuck out.

After preparing my tea at the beverage station, I head to my desk.

"Don't you two ever tire of your childish little bets?" says Katniss, raising only her eyes.

I disarm her with a smile. "Keeps things interesting, keeps things light around here. And I like a challenge; it's why I became a cop. Maybe one day when you and I can finally have a conversation that lasts more than two minutes and isn't about work, you'll tell me why you became one."

Everdeen exhales loudly, her back stiffening. She purses her lips and mumbles something before breaking our eye contact and going back to her papers. I take a sip of my tea and glance over my reasonably neat desktop, I swipe an errant Dove chocolate wrapper (one of my vices) into the trash and straighten the picture frame beside my computer monitor. Instinctively, I smile at the image of the only female that currently shares my bed: my yellow lab, Ilsa. She's a good cuddler, doesn't steal the sheets, and tolerates my morning breath.

Everdeen exhales again, this one sounding like a sigh of frustration, and I cock an eyebrow at her.

"Problem?" I venture.

She smiles tightly. "Not at all. Just could have used another minute or two to finish this up before seeing Abernathy." She pushes back her chair, smoothes her silk blouse down, and squares her shoulders, then she stalks off in the direction of Abernathy's office.

"No, that's okay, I'm right behind you!" I call, sarcasm dripping off my words as I follow her.

Everdeen assumes her usual stance in front of Abernathy's desk—arms crossed under her breasts, legs shoulder-width apart, jaw set, chin forward. Her countenance is impassive, but there's that latent fire crackling in those grey irises. This is what gets her going. I know that every time we're called into the chief's office, she anticipates being handed the Next Big Case. It's not like Everdeen solicits attention—far from it, actually. But she does thrive under pressure, and thus, Abernathy has started to throw the most difficult cases in our direction.

Abernathy pulls an unlit cigarette out from behind his ear and tucks it under his top lip. He quit smoking two years ago, but on most days there's still a cigarette to be found in his mouth. The rest of the time a large wad of Nicorette pooches out his cheek—he must jam six or seven pieces in there. Mason claims if they'd just let him drink on the job he'd be even more efficient. I sometimes question how she knows so much about our surly boss, but Johanna Mason is our resident Wikipedia. She seems to know everything about everyone, and is right about 95% of the time.

"Have a seat." Abernathy motions to the chairs. I start, but Everdeen remains fixed in place.

"I'll stand, thank you," she replies. Abernathy smirks and glances at me. I jerk my head towards her and offer my boss a sheepish smile. He shakes his head, bemused, and he leans forward to shove a file at Everdeen.

"Came through from the 2nd precinct. Apparently these lowlifes they've been scoping out for almost a year are now on our turf. Suspected trafficking of underage females. Going to involve some major surveillance and stakeouts. Acquaint yourselves with the logistics. This is your case now."

Everdeen is already intently scanning the first page in the file. That spark in her eyes is flickering again, and I know we're both thinking the same thing: this will definitely be big, if we can be the ones to shut the operation down.

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

I can feel his eyes on me as I read. I won't give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but my peripheral vision is outstanding so I know Mellark's watching me. When Abernathy dismisses us, I tuck the folder under my arm and assure my boss that I'll be ready. I stride out of his office, leaving Mellark in my wake. Behind me I hear Mason make some sort of smart-ass remark at him, and he volleys back a "fuck off."

When he reaches his desk, he has a chocolate-glazed donut in one hand. I make a big production out of sitting down at my desk, rearranging my files, placing the new one open atop the stack.

He's watching me again. His blue eyes don't blink, and his jaw moves, almost hypnotically, as he chews his donut. I'm still surprised he has such a sweet tooth. He doesn't strike me as the type who would eat sugary crap, not with a physique like the one I know he's concealing beneath his dress shirt and slacks. I've seen him in much tighter clothing during our required simulation trainings. Furthermore, we have a gym in the station, and the first time I saw Mellark, shirtless and sweaty, bench-pressing three times my body weight, I cursed myself for gawking. A lot. Like, more than I should have.

I'm not oblivious to Mellark's good looks. He's hot I'll give him that. The problem is he's almost too attractive for his own good—he knows it too. And he's charming. There are times where I've just had to bite my tongue and sit back to allow him to interview a female witness. Watching them get all doughy-eyed and slack-jawed over him can be amusing, once in a while. The rest of the time it's just annoying.

Nearly everyone in the precinct gives me shit about how much he likes me, and how he wants to sleep with me. I definitely believe the latter is true. I have my doubts about the former though. He spends as much time teasing me as he does trying to have a normal conversation with me. And though teasing a girl to show you like her was okay in middle school, we're grown adults.

Nearly five minutes pass, and he's still staring at me, still chewing, and I finally glance up, our eyes meeting. He pops the last bite of his donut in his mouth and his lip curls into a smirk. I narrow my eyes.

"Did you want something, Mellark?"

I can see the subtle shift in those piercing blue irises, something stormy and dangerous and unnervingly sexy. He keeps them trained on me, not speaking, just smiling. Sure, my choice of words was suggestive, though the intent behind them was not. A skirmish erupts in my stomach, irritation dueling with desire. I let my brain intervene before my heart, foolish bitch that she is, can side with the delicious warmth that his stare is kindling in me. Why is he suddenly having this effect on me? I've been able to resist those big blue eyes and the boyish smile up until this point. Get it together, Everdeen—Jesus.

"I'd like to see that file whenever it is you're finished with it, Katniss."

I clench my jaw and ignore the molten heat oozing through my veins from the way he says my name. He does it on purpose, because I know for a fact he chooses to call me Katniss when he's trying to get under my skin. He says that partners should be on a first name basis, but I think it annoys him just as much that I refuse to call him Peeta.

I've tried it out a few times. In the privacy of my bedroom. Just to what it sounds like, how easily it tumbles out, the breathy vowels interrupted by that flick of my tongue on the 't.'

Shit, did I accidentally smile? I accidentally smiled, didn't I? His expression hasn't changed, though he's swallowed the donut by now. He just keeps staring.

"I'll need a few more minutes and then it will be all yours," I say curtly.

"I can wait," he replies.

It takes me a lot longer than a few minutes, what with the way he's distracting me. Finally he slides into his chair and logs on to his computer. Within several seconds, I can hear systematic little clicks coming from his mouse. I wait for him to start typing, or making notes in one of his files, but he just keeps clicking.

"Are you playing Solitaire?" I hiss. He looks at me innocently and shakes his head.

"Free Cell. Just passing the time waiting for you, Everdeen."

"And you have no other work you can do?"

He gives me a smile that's as sweet as it is condescending. "It's been a slow week. I'm all caught up."

"It's Monday!" I exclaim. "Your work week is a couple of hours old."

"And it's slow," he insists, his eyes cutting to the file in front of me. I mash my lips together and try not to let my simmering anger boil over. He's doing it again—goading me on purpose. Without a word, I smack the folder closed and thrust it across onto his desk. It hits the lone picture frame on his desk and sends it pitching forward. He calmly reaches over and rights the frame, then slides the file directly in front of him.

"Thank you," he says as he begins to read.

It's the last words we speak to each other for the rest of the day.

* * *

At five o'clock, I shut down my laptop, slide it into my computer bag, lock my files in my bottom drawer, and straighten up my desk. I sneak a glimpse at Mellark, but in that instance he looks up and catches my eye.

"You heading home?" he asks, his face a mask of indifference.

I nod. "I have dinner plans." He didn't ask, but on some level I feel compelled to let him know this little fact. He doesn't have to know that the plans are with my roommate Madge, and we're ordering pizza and wings to watch Monday Night Football on the couch. My last real date was seven months ago, and it was such a horrible experience that it took me a week to talk to Mason again, since she was the one who set me up with the self-absorbed asshole.

"Have fun." His eyes return to his paperwork.

"You're, ah, not leaving?" I hedge.

"In a bit." There's a chill in his tone, a bite to his brusque sentences. I set my shoulders and huff out a terse, "See you tomorrow," before heaving my bag up and walking out of the station.

Autumn has definitely asserted herself in recent days. Though it was a pleasantly mild day, now that the sun has started to set earlier, there's often a sting in the evening air by the time I leave. I shiver a little as I walk to my car, appreciating the golden glow the dying rays cast over the lot. The streetlights should be coming on soon.

I reach my car and shoot a disparaging look at Mellark's car. I don't make it a point to park next to him, but since I was the last one in that morning, thanks to my hunk of junk not wanting to start, I had no choice. His BMW Z4 is the nicest car in the parking lot. My piece of shit Civic looks even shittier beside the gleaming charcoal roadster. I don't know how someone like him affords it. We make decent salaries as detectives, and he doesn't have a wife or any kids that I know about that he supports, but it still seems really extravagant. I could replace my piece of shit, but getting out of my apartment and buying a place of my own needs to happen first.

When I turn my key in the ignition, the same foreboding sputter I've become accustomed to hearing greets me. Pressing my lips together, I crank the key again. Nothing.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit." I slap the steering wheel then lay my forehead against it, frustration surging through me. Then I sit up, blow out a cleansing breath, and step back out of my car.

* * *

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

It's after six when I grab my jacket from the back of my desk chair, say goodbye to everyone who's left in the room, and head out to my car. I made a lot of progress on a few open cases and got some paperwork done, so I feel productive and energized. I toy with the idea of using the gym or swinging by the health club that I still belong to, but I'll go for a quick run when I get home. Ilsa should have already gotten her afternoon walk, courtesy of Rue, my sixteen-year-old neighbor who I pay generously to spoil my baby.

When I exit the rear of station into the lot where we park our personal vehicles, I'm greeted by the sight of Everdeen's ass. She's bent over the hood of the clunker she drives. As much as the vision could spur all kinds of fantasies, I'll have to put them in the spank bank for another time, cause I know for a fact that it was four minutes past five when she shut down her laptop, locked her desk drawer, and went on her way.

She's been out here for over an hour? Didn't she say she had plans?

I have to find the situation somewhat amusing that Katniss Everdeen is so stubborn that she would rather struggle with whatever mechanical difficulties her rusty old car is experiencing than to come back inside the precinct and ask for help.

But as I approach her, I can hear her muttering under her breath, spewing a string of obscenities that would make a sailor blush. My shoes crunching on the gravel must give me away, because her back tenses and she goes silent. As she turns around, I see her glossy dark locks are disheveled, her braid having come half unraveled. There's a black smudge streaked across her cheek, and the third button down on her blouse has come undone, giving me the tiniest tantalizing flash of something red and lacy. Fuck, I did not need to know the color of her bra right now—it's just more material for late night fantasizing.

Her eyes are hard as she appraises me. There's also a trace of something like vulnerability flickering in them, but it vanishes quickly.

"Need some help?" I ask evenly, easing my jacket off my shoulders in anticipation of making myself useful. I nobly keep my eyes from drifting down to her partially exposed chest. I should tell her about the button, but then I'd give myself away that I was checking her out.

"I'm fine," she retorts.

"What's wrong?"

She hesitates. "It's nothing. Go home."

"Katniss," I say her name deliberately, the way a friend might say it, and not a contentious partner like I did earlier this morning. "I'm not going to leave you out here when you need help."

"I don't need help," she snaps. "I know how to fix a car. I used to work on them with my dad all the time. It just stalls." She leans back over the engine and fiddles with the battery wires. "We all can't have fancy ass convertibles."

I ignore the insult, toss my jacket on the passenger seat of my fancy ass convertible, and crack my knuckles. I take tentative steps towards her, halting my movement just a few feet from where she stands. I wait for her to sense me behind her, and when she straightens up again, I slowly raise my hand.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Her voice is hoarse and tight. I graze my thumb across her cheek, rubbing gently. Her skin is as soft as I imagined it would be, since she doesn't have a blemish or flaw that I've ever been able to see. I could keep touching her like this forever, if she'd allow it. Which I know she wouldn't, so I pull my hand back quickly and turn my thumb to reveal the grease. She immediately starts rubbing her cheek furiously with her fingertips, avoiding my eyes, but she mutters a thank-you.

"Do you at least have Triple-A? Because I do, and I can call them for you. As long as I'm—"

"Peeta," she huffs, "I can handle myself. It did the same thing this morning. It will start. Go on, I'm sure you've got somewhere to be, or some hot date to get ready for."

I'm stunned by the fact she used my actual name, but I smile as I say, "As matter of fact, there is a beautiful blonde waiting for me at home."

She tries to fight it, but I see her jaw lock and her eyes widen for a split second. "Far be it from me to keep you from her then, Mellark." She spins on her heel and ducks back under the hood. I lean back and rest my ass on the hood of my Z4, watching her tinker with the battery. She can be as stubborn as she wants, but I'm not leaving until I know she's safe in her car—her _working_ car.

The Civic makes an awful sound, like some kind of animal in mortal pain, but the engine catches, and Katniss emits a squeak of triumph, nearly drilling her head as she backs away. She closes the hood and clears her throat. We stare at each other.

"Have a good night," she says, her voice much softer, and she climbs into her car, adjusts the mirror, and then she's gone.

Challenging is not even close to the right word to describe Katniss Everdeen. Maddening. Infuriating. Baffling. Better, but still not quite perfect. She's like one of those ancient riddles that have 300-some-odd possible solutions, but ultimately only one correct answer.

She's my cold case. And God help me, it only makes me want her more.

* * *

"Did you do this?"

I glance up from my desk, where I'm pouring over a transcript of an interrogation Everdeen and I conducted last Friday, trying to find a new angle on this particular case. I met her steely eyes, aimed right at me like daggers. She waves a newspaper clipping in my face.

"Oh you know, I was looking for that," I lie, lurching across our desks to yank the paper from her hand.

"You know damn well you _put _this on my desk, Mellark," she snaps, eyes flashing again. "I'll have you know I don't need a fucking reminder every time you get your name in the paper because of an arrest." She places her hands on her hips and straightens her shoulders. As she glowers at me, I can't help but notice how this antagonistic stance causes her breasts to strain just so against her navy button-down shirt, and the position of her hands makes me wonder what it would be like to have my fingers gripping that tiny waist as I thrust into her. It's a good thing I'm sitting down, the way my cock reacts instantly at the mere thought of fucking her.

"Language, Everdeen. There are children present." I thumb at the rookie who's training with Mags, our dispatcher, and I have to choke back a laugh when Everdeen scowls. She's so fucking hot when she's pissed. I'm not sure when I became such a glutton for punishment, but after the way she stubbornly rebuffed my help last night, I thought she could use a reminder at how well we work together.

As I watch her lips twitch, I can practically see her rehearsing a witty comeback for me, but all that she manages to sputter at me is, "That was my case, you know."

"I didn't realize that detective work involved us calling dibs on who solves what, like some kind of playground game…because like it or not, Everdeen, we are partners. If you keep reading, you'll see your name right there after mine. I gave you full credit for your outstanding work on _our _case," I say as I spin around in my chair and wheel across the floor to the snack station to grab the last plain-glazed donut from the box. Sliding back towards her, I watch her lips twitch and her eyes dart to the donut in my hand.

She only eats the plain-glazed ones. I've noticed. I wonder if she has any idea just how much I know about her.

"What?" I ask innocently. I look down to the donut. "Oh, did I take the last one?"

She presses her lips together so tightly that they blanch white, and her shoulders square again.

I push back and stand up, striding to where she stands beside her desk, and when I'm close enough to catch a whiff of her sandalwood vanilla perfume, I lean in and raise the donut to her closed mouth.

"Did you want this, Everdeen? It's all yours if you'd like it."

She inhales deeply and blows out a breath in an exaggerated huff. "I don't want the fucking donut," she grits through her teeth. "And stop leaving the local police reports on my desk. It's not a fucking competition."

"Oh it's not? You sure act—"

She cuts me off, as something wicked gleams in her eyes. "You want a competition? What the hell. Why don't we go ahead and make it one?"

* * *

_I look forward to hearing everyone's thoughts on this. It will not impact my other WIPs in any other way, as this is nearly done, and it's just the editing that will take me awhile between beta work and stupid online trainings for the new school year. Thank you for reading. ~C_


	2. Chapter 2

_**~*~Chapter 2~*~**_

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

The element of surprise definitely works in my favor, because Mellark's face right now is priceless. His chiseled jaw is slack, his eyes are azure saucers, and he's at a loss for words. I can't say I've ever seen Mellark speechless. I gloat inwardly for a second, then I flash him a smile.

He finally gets his brain and his mouth to communicate. "Make it a…"

I nod deliberately. "A competition."

A muscle just above that perfect jaw ticks, and he studies me carefully. I can tell he's wary, analyzing the situation carefully, the way he processes evidence. I think he's waiting for me to brush it off as a joke.

"I'm serious, Mellark. You love your little bets so much, let's make a wager, just you and me."

He sets the donut down on his desk and steps towards me. Reflexively I cross my arms and shrink back slightly, but he does that thing he tends to do a lot, where he pays no attention to personal space. He gets near me enough that I can smell the spicy sweetness of the cologne he wears, all cinnamon and musk and something else indescribably masculine that just screams sex.

"I'm listening," he says. The husky tone of his voice makes my stomach somersault, and the air between us suddenly feels electric. Shit, what was I thinking, proposing this?

But there's no backing down now. I swallow and force a smile onto my lips. "One month. We keep track of our felony arrests, and at the end of thirty days, whoever has more is the winner."

His wolfish grin has my gut twisting and spiraling again. "And what are the stakes?"

Given the fact that I most definitely did not think this through, I'm unprepared with an answer to that question. Several possibilities swim through my conscious thought, but one surfaces rapidly, and it extracts a wide grin of my own.

"Your car. If I win, it's mine for an entire week."

I expect him to resist this suggestion, given how possessive he is of his precious vehicle, but his blue eyes gleam, and this close to him I can see the tiny flecks of green and gold that his aquamarine dress shirt draws out in his irises. The same aquamarine dress shirt that his biceps are straining against and has been rolled up just enough to reveal his strong forearms.

"Sounds reasonable. Now…" He places his hands my desk, framing my hips between his arms as he boxes me in. "…What about _when_ I win?"

The way we stand, centimeters apart, it's like my lungs have forgotten how to breathe. My pulse throbs out of control, heat rollicking through my veins like a train that's jumped the tracks. "Do you always have to be so...so…cocky?" I sputter, once my brain and my mouth remember how to communicate.

He licks his lips. "I prefer to call it confidence. So _when_ I win, Detective Everdeen, I'm thinking that my prize will be something that I've been dying to give a spin. You. And you will have no choice but to go out with me when you lose. I want a date."

"What! No fucking way!" I shake my head vehemently and push him away. "No, no, no."

He looks wounded. "C'mon. A bet is a bet. You have to give me something that will truly motivate me."

"And that's me?" I spit, incredulous. "You can't possibly be treading water in the shallow end of the dating pool! I see the way half the women in this city eye-fuck you."

"Eye-fuck, huh? You've noticed?" He sounds pleased with himself. I make a face.

"And the blonde you went home to last night? She won't object to you wagering dates with another woman?"

He scrubs at his chin. "I actually think she'd like you," he replies. "Look, Everdeen, if you're so sure that you do better work alone and will log more arrests than me, my prize should be incidental. I don't know why you're so reluctant to spend one lousy evening with me, but fine, whatever. I'll think of something else that I want." He turns away and walks over to Odair's desk.

I clench my fists and take a deep breath. I'm not sure why the plaintive edge to his voice as he finished his last sentence affects me so, but it does. A sharp lance of pain in my chest has me instantly regretting reacting the way that I did. I still do not understand why he's so hell-bent on going out with me. For all I know, it's part of some sick little bet he's got with Odair, and I'll wind up regretting what I'm about to do even more. But against my better judgment, I find my feet shuffling towards where Mellark stands beside Odair, and I clear my throat to alert them to my presence.

When Mellark faces me, I look right into those crystal clear pools of blue and thrust my hand towards his chest. "You're on."

And I march away, not waiting for his response. At least today, I get the last word.

* * *

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

Things are quiet, relatively speaking, for a couple of days. Everdeen and I mostly catch up on paperwork and file reports. I flirt with her and she pretends she doesn't hear me. It's business as usual.

I did take it upon myself to wheel an old chalkboard out of storage and position it behind her desk. I drew a line down the middle and wrote each of our names at the top of both columns. She rolled her eyes at me when I left the piece of chalk on the ledge under my side. So far, the board remains empty, not a tally mark on it.

Friday morning I wake up early and nudge the warm, heavy body sleeping on my right.

"Ils?" Her head perks up at her name and her tail thumps against the bed. "Wanna go for a run with Daddy before he goes to work?"

She's off the bed in a blur of yellow fur, and she whines excitedly, her tail now wagging frenetically. I laugh at her enthusiasm, and after I relieve myself and brush my teeth, I throw on a pair of athletic shorts and a sleeveless Under Armour tee, lace up my sneakers, and grab Ilsa's leash.

A beautiful fall day is dawning, and the fresh air fills my lungs as Ilsa and I run. I go through my to-do list in my head, thinking about an interview I need to conduct with an informant later that morning. Her heavy pants punctuate the slap of my sneakers on the pavement.

As we turn into the park, it becomes a little harder to breathe, not because I'm overdoing it, but because I have the air stolen from my lungs at the sight of Everdeen jogging towards me. I'm temporarily stunned, because I've never seen her running in this part of the city before, but then I realize she isn't alone—I recognize her tall, dark-haired running partner. Envy cascades through me like an avalanche, swift moving, and oppressive. I can't even fully appreciate how fucking hot she looks in her running attire because I'm so unnerved by seeing her with Vice Detective Gale Hawthorne.

"Mellark, hey." She comes to a stop in front of me and bounces in place. Her skin is dewy with perspiration, and I lose the fight not to watch an errant bead of sweat roll down her neck, bound for the hollow of her throat—right above her breasts, which I get an eyeful of, compressed by her tight sports bra.

"Everdeen." I acknowledge.

"You remember Gale Hawthorne, right?" she says.

"Of course." I do the polite thing and extend my free hand, but Hawthorne merely nods his head. I was in the police academy with him years ago, and we both started in the 12th precinct together. He transferred to 2 to join their vice squad around the same time Everdeen joined 12 as a rookie. He and I have a mutual disdain for each other that stems from the fact he knows I want her. He seems to think he has a claim on her, though Mason keeps assuring me they're not dating.

Everdeen gives me a smile, and she leans down, putting herself eye-level with Ilsa, who sits obediently at my feet. "I didn't know you had a dog," she says, her smile widening as Ilsa eagerly licks her proffered hand.

"This is Ilsa. The blonde I go home to every night."

She glances up at me, silver eyes wide with understanding. "Oh…oh…" I watch her chest inflate as she takes a deep breath and then exhales, as if she's warring with herself over how to respond to me. "She's beautiful…aren't you?" she coos to Ilsa.

"I told you she'd like you," I say quietly. As Everdeen scratches Ilsa's ears, the dog's eyes close with contentment and her tongue lolls out.

"Catnip, we'd better get going if we're going to make five miles before we both have to get to work."

Everdeen pats Ilsa's head one more time and straightens back up. I steal a peek at her flat, toned stomach, her abdominal muscles on display for me to appreciate. She's in phenomenal shape. Christ, the things I could do to that body…the things that body could do to me…I cough to clear my perverted thoughts, and just in time, because when I look up, her eyes meet mine.

"Catnip?" Gale prompts again, interrupting our visual standoff. I want to gag at the silly pet name. Everdeen is so not a silly pet name woman. I'd never cheapen her unique, sexy name by equating her to a feline narcotic.

"I'd better get going. See you at the station." She bends down to rub Ilsa's muzzle again. "It was nice to meet you, Ilsa." And she and Gale jog off without another word to me. I stare after her, stomach churning. Everdeen does everything alone—she prides herself on it. Furthermore, running is usually a solitary hobby. It sickens me to think there's another reason why she'd be with Gale Hawthorne this early in the morning. Maybe this is one of those 5% times Mason is wrong…

Ilsa chuffs and looks up at me expectantly. I give her leash a gentle tug to urge her to all fours and we finish the rest of our run in companionable silence.

* * *

I'm in a thoroughly foul mood by the time I get to work, though I do my best to conceal it. But Mason sees through me, and she sidles up to me at the beverage station, a suspicious look in her hazel eyes.

"What's got your panties in a bunch this morning?"

"Hawthorne," I mutter, reaching for a donut. "Gale Hawthorne." I tear the donut into two pieces and jam one into my mouth. Once I swallow, I tell her about bumping into Everdeen on my run.

"Oh for fuck's sake, how many times do I have to tell you they're just friends? Everdeen doesn't date. At least, she doesn't date him. Never will."

"She always looks different when I see her with him," I say quietly. "There's a smile on her face that only he seems to put there." Again, jealousy curls through my veins, like smoke.

"Everdeen has a lot of baggage, Peeta." My head snaps up, because when Johanna Mason calls you by name, she's channeling that tiny part of her that actually is human. "One day, maybe she'll trust you enough to tell you about it."

"She's told _you_?" I nearly drop the other half of my donut. I didn't think Everdeen and Mason were all _that_ close, aside from occasionally hanging out outside of work. Hell, I talk to Mason far more than anyone in this precinct, except Odair, and that's only cause he's her partner.

"No, Gale told me once…right after we've fucked."

It's a good thing I'm not presently eating the donut, cause that statement certainly would have made me choke on it.

"Katniss doesn't look at Hawthorne that way," Mason insists. "He's just a good friend of hers. There's more to that story. And besides she never would have been okay with him and me being fuck buddies if she had any designs on him. So relax." She gives me the quickest pat of reassurance on my elbow as she strides off towards Odair.

There's still an unsettled feeling sloshing around in the pit of my stomach, but I finish my donut and prepare my tea, wondering just what kind of baggage a woman like Katniss Everdeen could be carrying.

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

Mellark doesn't say a word when he takes a seat at his desk. I continue working, covertly looking up every few seconds to watch him sipping his tea as he reads his screen.

I could say something about our encounter in the park, but I'm not good at small talk, and I definitely got the sense that it irked him to see Gale with me. I know they were never friends. And it's easy enough to spot jealousy in a man. Seeing Mellark and Gale size each other up was like watching two alpha males in a pack, each waiting for any sign of weakness, primed to pounce and tear the other one's jugular wide open.

It had been my idea to meet Gale for a run. I had called him last night to pick his brain on the trafficking case, since the case originated in his jurisdiction. And because Gale has a way of making you feel guilty when he thinks you've neglected him for too long, he reminded me it's been nearly two months since we'd seen each other. I was exhausted though, so I successfully begged off dinner and compromised on a run this morning. It was something we had done together in high school, every morning except Sundays, and I think the throwback to familiarity both placated and pleased him.

I hadn't planned on literally running into Mellark. And I definitely hadn't planned on the little stutter that my heart did at the sight of him jogging towards me, the sun's reddish-orange glow making his hair seem even blonder and his fair skin even more golden. It unnerved me that I found my eyes lingering a little too long on the swells of his biceps and what of his ripped chest was visible. I definitely chastised myself for wishing he would have opted to run without a shirt.

And then I saw the dog.

I've never really been an animal person. I'm still not, for the most part. But during my time in the police academy, I did a ride along with a K-9 Unit. Seeing the officer interact with his German shepherd, who was just about the sweetest dog I could have ever imagined…well, I might have developed a thing for dogs…and maybe for guys who love their dogs.

I push away the knowledge Mellark now fits into that category. But I do plan to exploit his beautiful Labrador a bit, because talking more about his dog seems like it could be a good icebreaker. The arctic front presently hovering over our desks needs to dissipate if we're going to make any progress on developing a plan for our trafficking case.

"Ilsa really is beautiful," I offer. He looks up, and there's no mistaking the quick flicker of pride in his blue eyes.

"Thank you."

"_Casablanca_ fan?"

He narrows his eyes at me, puzzlement briefly claiming his handsome features. Then he smiles once he's absorbed that I've figured out his inspiration. "Uh…yeah, yeah, that's where I got her name." He gazes at me intently for a moment, his stare so deep that I think I stop breathing for a moment. "No one ever makes that connection. And now with that _Frozen_ song everywhere, people just think I have a weird thing for Disney."

"It's not the same, they're two entirely different names."

He shrugs. "It's one syllable…Minor attention to detail. Most people don't bother."

"I guess that's why we do what we do. We pay attention to the little things that other people miss," I reply, and find myself pegged by his stare once more. A fluttering passes through my chest, fleeting, but its effect lingers.

This is why I've kept my distance from him, built that wall up around me, a fortress to protect myself from feeling. Because sitting across from Mellark right now, I am utterly aware of how easy it would be to feel for him. To open up to him…to let him in. And that can't happen. I _won't_ let someone like Mellark in, not when I'd just be a conquest, another wager won. He told me himself that he likes a challenge. I know that's what he really sees in me. As soon as I'd give in, he'd be over me. And I'd be left to sweep up the pieces of my shattered heart.

I clear my throat. "So…ah, the trafficking case from 2."

His countenance shifts and the Mellark who aims cocky grins at me and leaves ego-boosting clippings on my desk returns. "What about it?"

"Well, I, um, spoke with the doorman who phoned in the initial tip," I begin, and then briefly summarize my conversation to get Mellark caught up to speed. "He hasn't seen anything suspicious since that first night a week ago, but now he and the other doorman both have my cell number, and I assured him he can text anytime, even if it's the middle of the night."

Mellark's smile shifts to one of amusement. "Have you ever done a stakeout before, Everdeen?"

I straighten in my chair, anticipating him going all know-it-all on me. "No…"

"The key is being prepared. Have a bag ready that you can grab quickly if an informant, like Darius, in fact clues you in that something is going down. Time is a real bitch in surveillance. You have to act fast and then be prepared to wait for hours. And on more than one occasion."

"I think I can handle it, thanks for your concern."

He chuckles. "I don't doubt it."

I huff softly, feeling there's more to his simple statement, but I don't particularly want to engage him in battle right now. We both fall quiet and settle into our increasingly familiar routine of ignoring each other while we work. No playful ribbing, no uncomfortable stares to rankle me, no accidentally brushing my leg in the shared space under our desks when he claims to be stretching. I work diligently, obtaining two warrants I need for a case I'm desperate to close. I can practically see those tallies going up under my name, and I grin to myself.

I hear Mellark on the phone twice. The first time is definitely work-related, something about coming in for questioning. He assures the caller twice that he or she is not a suspect. He looks satisfied as he hangs up.

When he makes the second call, he drops his voice, and eventually he rises and walks away from his desk. I crane my neck, pretending to look behind me. Mellark paces, and as he talks, he wears a smile that tells me whatever he's discussing is pleasure and not business. I try not to think about whom he might be talking to, and I throw myself back into my work.

After I finish up the paperwork on two arrests I made last week (but don't count towards our bet, because not only are were they made before the wager, but neither is a felony) my stomach growls loudly. I think about retrieving my lunch from the fridge in the break room, but then Mellark reappears at his desk, so I hunch over my files, intently scanning the documents.

"I'm running to Sae's," he announces, jamming his phone in his pocket. "Who wants something?"

Mason and Odair give him their orders. Cresta politely declines, saying she has a salad in the fridge.

"Everdeen, can I buy you lunch?" he ask, shrugging his jacket on.

"No thank you." I'm starving, but I won't do myself any favors spending an hour with him after the licentious thoughts I had earlier this morning.

"No? You really should give yourself a break for a few minutes. You're going to hurt your back sitting like that all day," he continues, leaning forward on my desk. I can smell that cologne he wears, and he's so close I can see that he obviously skipped a shave this morning. Blond hair peppers his cheeks and jawline.

"I'm busy." I sign one paper with a flourish and slide it into a manila folder. "And I brought my lunch."

"Come with me for the company."

"Detective Mellark," I say his name emphatically, enunciating each syllable, "I think you're perfectly capable of driving to a delicatessen, picking up a few sandwiches, and driving back here all by yourself."

He sets his mouth into a firm line and walks away. I feel guilty for being so bitchy, and I contemplate running after him, but my pride wins out over my guilt.

He only returns briefly, to drop off the lunches he grabbed for others. He hands a large piece of carrot cake to Mags, the only person in the office who eats more sweets than he does, and then he's gone again.

At quarter to four, Odair walks past my desk, picks up the chalk, and draws two tally marks under Mellark's name.

I spring from my seat. "What are you doing?"

"Peeta texted me. He and Leeg will be here in a minute."

I stiffen, both because my partner chose to text someone else before me, and because Leeg is on patrol. Routine traffic stops that lead to arrest are not Mellark's territory, and furthermore, most of them are misdemeanors. I plant my hands on my hips and open my mouth to dispute the tallies, but Mellark walks in at that moment, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. I march up and meet him halfway.

"What the fuck? You can't count something that happened on Leeg's patrol—"

"Why don't you allow me to give you the facts before you have a conniption, Everdeen," he chides, a patronizing lilt to his voice. "This was my case. Leeg spotted the car I've been looking for and ran the plates for me. Got 'em both for possession of a controlled substance when they came out of the Best Buy. Twenty grams. That's a felony—two of them. They're my arrests. Leeg merely transported them here for me." He moves to saunter past me, but he loiters for a moment and lines up his mouth to my ear. He's so close that I can feel the heat of his breath on my neck and smell the peppermint from his gum. "Looks like I'm on the board first," he whispers.

I suck in a breath and draw up my chest. "Enjoy your lead. It won't last long."

His eyes sparkle mischievously. "That's not usually how I operate."

I fight the blush creeping up my neck, praying it doesn't reach my cheeks before I can flee back to my desk and try not to think about Peeta Mellark's self-professed sexual stamina.

* * *

_**Author's Note-**Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites to Chapter 1. As I said, the intention was to have this posted as a one-shot, so I will be posting the chapters fairly quickly. I anticipate there being about 7 of them at this point. We shall see. _

_Thank you Ro Nordmann for the gorgeous banner that I gave her so little to work with in planning. Ro, you're a genius, and I love you._

_And obviously, thanks always go to iLoVeRynMar. I'm beyond giddy that you love this so much. And to Street for always posting my shiz for me and holding my hand. LY guys._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's**** Note—**Thanks for the continued response to this story. I'm trying to post the chapters fairly quickly, since it was supposed to be a one-shot and most of it is written!_

_I'll have iLoVeRynMar and streetlightlove post something more detailed and formal on my behalf on their Tumblrs, but I am beyond humbled by the outpouring of birthday gifts, wishes, and messages yesterday. I am grateful to have a place in this fandom. _

_Please remember that this is a work of fiction in a fictional place and there may be liberties taken with the details. The jurisdiction and sharing of cases between police detectives and the federal agents is murky for me, and this is meant to be a fun little takeoff on B99. _

_Thanks for reading! _

* * *

_**~*~Chapter 3~*~**_

* * *

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

I've never looked forward to a stakeout as much as this one. In our time as partners thus far, Everdeen and I have yet to be handed a case that involves this kind of surveillance. Being alone together for a prolonged, undetermined amount of time is new territory for us.

Though I doubt she will appreciate my efforts, as I pack my stakeout bag I include an assortment of little snacks. Everdeen likes to eat, even if she rebuffs all my invitations to lunch and never lets me bring her anything back when I go out. I see her snacking when she thinks I'm not noticing.

Detectives have the weekends off, but we are always on call. The erratic nature of my job makes it difficult to plan ahead, which was a downside at the beginning of my promotion. I had adapted to the predictable schedule I had as a cop, even if it was at times inconvenient to have odd hours and weird days off.

On Saturday afternoon, Odair texts me around five, right as I'm finishing up watching the end of the Yankees-Red Sox game (which lasts an ungodly four hours and during which I nod off twice), and he starts needling me to come out drinking with him. He reminds me that I need to pay up for a bet I lost yesterday, a culmination of a weeklong wager as to how many calls the rookie kid would fuck up on the switchboard. We did over/under, but apparently Mags has been teaching him well, cause he only screwed up on three, and I had taken eight. So I now owed Odair the first two rounds the next time we go out.

I had really kind of been looking forward to an evening on the couch, Ilsa's head in my lap, with something mindless on the television. After I reluctantly agree to meet Finn, I find myself briefly wondering what Everdeen does for fun on the weekends. Is she at home, getting ready to go out with her friends, too? She doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who hangs out drinking overpriced cocktails with the ladies, but I also imagine she doesn't just sit around on a Saturday night. God I hope she's not with Hawthorne.

As I shed my sweats and rummage through a drawer for something to change into, the image of Everdeen in her skimpy running outfit persists, practically burned into my retinas now. I picture that smile that I see all too rarely and it's not long before my imagination starts to rebel. It takes all my willpower not to thrust my hand inside my boxer briefs, take my swollen cock in my hand, and get myself off to the visual of her nearly naked body. _Don't do it, Mellark_, I chastise myself. I count to ten and picture a grisly crime scene photograph I had been studying recently. Once my erection deflates, I tug on my jeans and a black t-shirt. Ilsa wags her tail at me in farewell, and I tell her I won't be late. I throw her a Milkbone and turn on the Food Network for her, to keep her company.

There are five other guys at the bar with Odair, guys we went to the police academy with who are now scattered at precincts all throughout the city. We've managed to stay friends throughout the years. I buy Finn his first Amstel Light and order my own Sam Adams. We chat and watch the games, and I have to admit it's nice to kick back for a couple of hours.

My second pint glass is nearly empty when my phone vibrates against my thigh.

_**[Katniss Everdeen]**_

_Today 8:42 p.m._

_Hey. Darius the doorman just called me. Said a van just went around back of the warehouse. _

A tiny jolt of adrenaline courses through me.

_[8:43 p.m.]_

_Sounds like our stakeout is a go. Meet you there in 10. _

_**[Katniss Everdeen]**_

_8:43 p.m._

_I'll be there in 5._

I gulp down the rest of my beer, throw down two twenties and tell Odair his next two are also on me, and say my goodbyes.

As I near the warehouse, I park my BMW several blocks away. Seam Street isn't the best of neighborhoods, though Mayor Undersee is doing his best to clean up the seedier parts of town. The east end has fewer dive bars and strip clubs, and several of the buildings now have security—doormen like Darius.

Once I've retrieved my backpack from the trunk, I walk quickly up the street and spy Everdeen loitering near an intersection one block away from our destination. She's wearing a grey tank top that stretches taut across her breasts and a pair of skinny jeans that hug the slender curves of her hips. A large messenger bag hangs from her right shoulder. As smoking hot as she looks, all effortlessly casual, my first thought is that she's going to be cold as hell up on that roof.

When I reach her, she greets me by winding her arms around my neck and burying her face in my chest. I'm so startled by the delicious feel of her body against mine that it takes me a moment to hug her back.

"We're just a couple arriving home at our apartment building," she hisses through her teeth. "Darius will let us inside and nothing will look out of the ordinary." She draws back and searches my eyes for understanding. I nod. She laces our fingers together, and warmth radiates through my palm and up my arm as we clasp hands.

Darius is younger than I expected, probably no more than my age, and he tips his hat to us as he ushers us inside. Everdeen immediately drops my hand.

Our exchange in the vestibule with Darius is brief. He explains that the super is having us a set of keys made, so we can come and go as we please as long as we need to monitor the warehouse. He reiterates that Everdeen and I will just look like any other young couple that calls the building home, and I swear the faintest tinge of pink appears on her cheeks.

Then he presses a key into my palm. "Take the elevator up to the fourth floor. When you step out, just to your left will be an unmarked metal door. Use this key. It's one flight up to the roof and the door only locks from inside the building. You'll have no trouble getting back in once you're finished."

We thank him and he disappears back outside the building. Once we reach the fourth floor, Everdeen spots the door right away. I fit the key inside and wave my arm, indicating that she should ascend the stairs first. She crosses her arms in front of her, narrowing those silver eyes at me, but she relents. As I climb behind her, I can't avoid staring at her ass, so perfect in the tight jeans she wears. I don't see her in casual clothes that often. Between the skimpy running outfit, and now the tank top and jeans, I'm amassing quite the visual collection.

She pulls out a pair of binoculars and a small camera from her shoulder bag. She looks around, and her lovely features twist into a scowl.

"There is nothing up here."

"It's a roof," I say, setting down my backpack. "What did you expect?"

She huffs and hangs the binoculars around her neck and jams the camera into her jeans pocket.

"You sure you're not going to get cold?" I ask, indicating her tank top.

"I'm good," she replies. She sits down cross-legged beneath the ledge, bracing one hand on it while the other raises the binoculars to her eyes. She extends her upper body and peers over the ledge, careful to keep herself concealed. I squat down beside her.

The warehouse is cloaked in darkness. Everdeen scans the windows systematically, starting near the roof, and she shakes her head.

"Nothing. Not a sliver of light, no movement."

We sit for an hour or so, neither of us speaking. Everdeen keeps staring at the building, yawning, and she wraps her arms around herself, and I notice her rubbing her hands up and down her upper arms. I chance a peek at her chest, even if it means I'm going to hell for doing so. Her nipples are clearly hard. My cock twitches and I quickly look away.

"You have to be cold," I say, hoping I don't let on to how I've come to this assumption.

She glares at me. "I'm good," she repeats, lying through her chattering teeth. "I was grocery shopping. I don't get all dolled up to walk the produce aisles. And I wasn't counting on being in there for more than half an hour."

A little thrill curls through me at this revelation of her low-key evening plans. At least she wasn't out with another guy. But she's still visibly shivering, being as stubborn as usual. I reach into my bag and pull out a zippered nylon pouch then shake out the blanket from its neat little confines and drape it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she says quietly, gripping the edges of the blanket and cocooning herself in it more securely. "That's clever." She nods to the pouch.

"Oh, yeah…my brother and I did a lot of tailgating in college, and well, late season football games can get pretty damn frigid. We had a ton of these. Don't know where they all disappeared to. He probably snagged 'em all when he moved out."

"You have a brother?"

I nod. "Two actually. I'm the baby."

She snickers. "Why does that not surprise me?"

I laugh. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can tell you're used to getting whatever you want. Typical baby of the family."

I give her a wry smile. I don't argue with her, even though she's way off base, because my mother didn't believe in treating any of us boys with any kindness, no matter our birth order. But I'm not about to sully my time with Everdeen by bringing up my witch of a mother.

"What about you? Siblings?" I ask.

I don't miss how her body tenses and her mood alters instantaneously. "How long do you think we should stay tonight?" she asks.

Though I'm curious as to why she completely sidestepped my inquiry about her family, Mason's words from this morning reverberate in my ears. Perhaps Everdeen's family is part of the baggage Mason hinted at. I could press the issue, try to get Everdeen to open up to me, since bonding is essential to a strong partnership, and she and I have made little headway in that department. Of course, then I run the risk of pissing her off further, and I've done more damage than I've done good. But given the way she's looking at me, I need to decide which it's going to be—and fast.

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

Mellark stares at me, and for a moment I swear he can see inside my head. The maelstrom of emotions churning in me must be obvious. His expression grows concerned and he seems hesitant to say anything. Trying to keep myself in check, I silently implore him not to ask why I changed the subject.

"We should probably give it another several hours," he says. "It's a Saturday night. The area is busier than it would normally be on a weeknight. If there's anything brewing in there, they could be waiting for two or three a.m…you know, for the bars shut down and crowds to disperse. It's the nature of the beast with surveillance. There's a lot of risk and wasted time for the ultimate reward."

I press my lips together and exhale, relieved. I'm not ready to go there. He's said several times that he wants to know what made me want to become a cop. Unfortunately it's the same thing that makes me so vulnerable, and I don't want Mellark knowing my Achilles heel. The last thing I need is for him to pity me, or for him to see me as weak. I'd rather he just assume I'm a bitch.

He unzips his bag and pull out a wrapped parcel. He offers it to me, and I look at him cautiously.

"Heavensbee liked to snack on stakeouts," he supplies. I must give him a strange look because he continues, "My old partner? The one who retired and opened up the position for you?"

"It's after midnight," I state. I try never to eat this late, even on days when I've skipped lunch or worked past normal dinner hours. I love my food, but there are some bad habits I strive to avoid. It's far too easy to develop them in my line of work.

"What, you some kind of Gremlin?" he teases. I raise an eyebrow at him dubiously, and he adds, "Like the old movie, you know?"

"I know. I'm just trying to let it sink in that you just compared me to some hideous creature that occasionally gnaws on human flesh."

He rubs at the back of his neck and looks apologetic. "They were cute when they weren't wet." I narrow my eyes at him, wondering if he even realizes the suggestive way that sentence could be interpreted, but he doesn't react if he does.

By four a.m., we're both struggling to stay awake, and it becomes apparent we're not getting anything, not this morning anyhow. We make our way back down to the street, and Mellark walks me to my car. He leans against the expired parking meter, unmoving, and I roll down my window.

"What?"

"I'm not going to my car until I know that thing starts." He nods to my clunker.

I blow out a breath and turn the key, smiling smugly when the engine catches on the first try and my car coughs to life. His mouth curves into a smile, and he leans down and presses his lips to my cheek. I gasp, and he rubs his thumb over the spot his lips just were.

"A guy saying goodbye to his girl the morning after would definitely do that, at the very least. Go get some sleep. See you Monday, Everdeen." He stands and steps around to the curb, but he lingers again, and with a trembling hand I jerk the gear shift into drive and steer the car onto the empty street, bound for my apartment. In my rearview mirror, I see him finally begin to walk up the sidewalk, his eyes still locked on my car.

* * *

After the way we left things early Sunday morning, I equally yearn for and dread for our next surveillance to crop up. Peeta Mellark is starting to affect me in ways I don't want to think about, and usually, this would be where I'd retreat and keep my distance if he were just another guy. But that's impossible in these circumstances.

And to complicate things, since that innocent little peck, Mellark has amped up his pursuit of me. The smoldering looks he gives me across our desks have dampened my panties more than I will _ever_ admit, and sexual innuendo—all him—now infuses more of our conversations. He constantly teases me about what will happen when I lose our bet. He invents lavish scenarios for our date, relating them to me in such detail that once or twice I get a little swept up in how nice it would be to do these things with him. I nearly forget he is my partner, and not an incredibly attractive man who wants me—_me._

"You should just wave the white flag and surrender," Mason says, stopping by my desk one morning when Mellark is behind closed doors with Abernathy. "Let him wine you, dine you, and fuck you til you can't walk straight. I bet he's phenomenal in bed."

I ignore the whorl of lust in my stomach that wends its way down between my thighs, and give Johanna a dirty look. Then I cut my eyes to the chalkboard, where the score shows Mellark is ahead of me, with four arrests to my two. Two weeks have already passed, and though I will never confess to it, even under the worst torture imaginable, I _have_ thought about losing. And even if I were okay with going out with Mellark—which I try to convince myself that I am not—my competitive side refuses to give up. I will win. He will not best me.

In order to get rid of Mason, I pick up my phone and call Darius. There haven't been any more developments on the trafficking case, and thus, no more stakeouts since the only one we conducted that Saturday night. I'm starting to wonder if the intel from 2 was wrong and the traffickers aren't here. For there to be nothing…it just seems improbable. These assholes are that good, or we're missing something.

Darius is apologetic, as if it's his fault our guys haven't shown their hand, and he reassures me that the other doorman, an older man named Thread, also has my cell phone to call if he sees anything unusual during his daytime shift. I thank him and hang up.

I'm swiveling in my desk chair, poring over a different file, combing the photographic evidence in the remote chance I missed something, when Mellark emerges from Abernathy's office. I recognize the shit-eating grin on his face as he strolls to the board and adds a tally mark.

"How is that possible?" I exclaim, leaping from my chair. "You never left the precinct! How can you—"

"Mitchell brought in one of my suspects on that Sam's Club robbery from last month. Picked up for a minor traffic violation, but oh a search of the vehicle turned up six grand in stolen merchandise. Booked him for larceny."

"Bullshit! That's just fucking dumb luck!" I spit, clenching my fists, struggling to keep my temper in check.

"An arrest is an arrest," he replies, unwrapping one of the chocolates he keeps on his desk. He pops it in his mouth and I can tell he's using his tongue to flip it over, forcing me to keep my eyes trained on his mouth. Shit, he even makes eating a chocolate look sexy. Tearing my eyes from him, I take a deep breath and spin on my heel, stalking off to the break room. I yank on the refrigerator door and pull out one of my cans of Red Bull. Popping the tab, I take a long sip and set it down, resting my palms on the counter. Why do I let him get to me like this?

"Because…" I hear his honeyed voice a second before I feel his breath tickle my ear. "…Your armor is starting to crack, Everdeen. I'm getting to you."

Fuck, did I say what I said aloud? Mellark had to have heard me. His palms bracket mine on the counter, and I sense his solid body practically pinning me from behind. I can't breathe. Every nerve cell is firing at once, panic swiftly supplanted by desire, and I instinctively shift back. Doing so causes me to bump into his sturdy chest, and a gasp escapes my throat at the contact.

"If it bothers you that much, I won't count the arrest," he whispers. My eyes close on their own accord, and I fight the urge to lay my head back on his shoulder. His lips are barely an inch from my neck. If I tilt just the slightest bit, his mouth would definitely graze my skin, and oh god, I bet it would feel so…

Fortunately my brain rouses from its temporary coma, and I whirl about, meeting his eyes. They're dilated and a darker shade of blue than I've ever seen them. His gaze flits to my mouth and neither of us moves.

"Count the arrest," I say hoarsely. "This isn't over."

His lips curl into a seductive smile. "Oh, I think you're right. We're just getting started." He leans forward. I swear in that instance that he's going to kiss me, and my stomach does a swan dive. But he merely reaches out, takes my braid in his hand, and very slowly slides his fingers down its length, until it slips from his grasp. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a suspect to interrogate."

It's impossible to rein in my galloping heart as I watch him leave, and God help me I can't stop myself from lowering my eyes down his back to the round globes of his ass, highlighted by the way the expensive fabric of his pants molds to it. I gulp down the rest of my Red Bull, toss the can in the recycling bin, and bolt to the ladies' room to gather my composure—and to sop the moisture out of my damn-near-ruined panties.


	4. Chapter 4

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

"That's number eleven for me," Everdeen smirks, adding a tally mark to the board. She sets the chalk down with a flourish and aims a cocky smile at me. "Looks like I take the lead, Mellark. Three more days and that sweet little ride of yours is gonna be mine. I wonder where I'll take it first?"

I roll my eyes and fully submerge my tea bag in the cup of hot water. I let it steep while I watch Everdeen, her mercury eyes fixed on me, an open invitation daring me to do something—anything—to goad her in response.

And I can't resist. Pulling the tea bag from my cup and tossing it into the trash, I saunter over to her desk and settle into her chair. Her eyes narrow imperceptibly as I push back and swing my legs up onto her desk, narrowly missing a stack of case files and a framed photo of her and a willowy blonde girl in front of some kind of rock outcropping.

"You like adventure, Everdeen?" I motion towards the picture frame.

I can tell from her stance that it's taking a monumental effort on her part not to freak out on me for touching her stuff. She crosses her arms across her chest, but, oh, if she only knew all it does is make me think about her perfect breasts even more. The way she stands pushes them up and makes them even perkier, and I can imagine that's how they'd look like if it were my hands pushing them together like that—right before I take them in my mouth.

"I like to stay active," she replies. I hide my smirk. I can think of about 20 different ways I'd like to get active with her, and most of them require no clothing.

"Hmm," I begin, swiveling back and forth, a contemplative smile on my lips. Her eyes keep flickering between her desktop and my mouth as she takes a few steps closer to me. "So if I were going to be planning an outing for, say, I don't know, a first date, you wouldn't be opposed to something…physically challenging?"

"You're not going to win, Mellark." She smirks at me. "You can keep fantasizing though. It's good to keep your brain active."

"Oh I fantasize plenty," I volley. "Want to know what I think about most?" I let my tongue stall on the last word, dragging it out in a seductive hiss.

"No!" But her reply is too hasty, too insistent; it betrays her. She does too want to know. And that's exactly why I don't say another word. It'll drive her crazy, wondering what I was going to reveal. Instead, I turn my attention back to the picture frame.

"Who's the blonde with you?"

Her countenance instantly sobers and her eyes become stony. She stalks off, her braid swishing, her hips swaying. I sigh, rest my forehead on her desk, and lightly bang my head against the surface a few times for posterity. As I raise my head, I squint at the photograph, and after a quick glance around to be sure Everdeen isn't just sulking at Mason or Cresta's desks, I pick up the frame for a closer look.

Naturally, my eyes are first drawn to Everdeen, a pretty smile lighting her face. She looks carefree and happy. Her arm is slung around the blonde girl, who appears to be a good four or five years younger than Everdeen, who herself looks to be fifteen or sixteen here. Though there is virtually no physical resemblance between the two, I know without a doubt I am looking at her and her sister. So she does have a sibling. The physical evidence is right here, in plain view on her desk.

I furrow my brows and set the picture back, careful to set it exactly where I found it, and I head around to my own desk to rummage through my open cases for the one I know has the capacity to vault me ahead of Everdeen and claim victory by Friday afternoon.

I get completely caught up in my paperwork and it's nearly seven by the time I finish following up on the leads for the case that I am relying on for my triumph over Everdeen. I shoot Rue a text and I'm relieved that she's home. She agrees to go over again and feed Ilsa and let her out. As if I weren't already feeling guilty about inadvertently upsetting Everdeen earlier, neglecting my baby only compounds my guilt. I decide to work off some aggression.

Since our station gym's renovation six months ago, I find myself using it more frequently than my actual health club membership. Our facility used to be nothing more than some free weights, a bench press, one treadmill, and a sauna, but now among the upgrades it boasts multiple machines and an indoor pool.

I throw on some gym shorts that I keep in my locker and double knot my sneakers, and then I walk out into the gym. Quiet grunts command my attention instantly, and my eyes sweep the room, landing on the punching bags suspended from the ceiling. The one farthest to the right sways wildly, thanks to the kicks that Everdeen continues to land on it. I remain in place, watching her spar for several moments. She's wearing nothing but a sports bra and a pair of tiny Adidas shorts, and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Even from across the room I can see her skin is slick with sweat. Her chest heaves with effort and her ab muscles alternate contracting and relaxing with every kick.

I try to be stealthy as I make my way towards the bench press, but Everdeen must catch sight of me in the mirrored wall because she freezes and stops her kickboxing. She drags her arm across her forehead and steps away from the bag.

"Sorry, didn't mean to disturb you," I call.

"I'm finished." She undoes her gloves and grabs a nearby towel. She blots it over her neck and down the top of her chest.

"Everdeen, wait!" I call when she moves to leave. She pauses and turns to face me. I jog over to her. "I'm, ah, sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to pry about your family."

Those silver eyes crackle. "How do you know she's my family?"

"Just a guess. There's something about her that looks just like you…"

She makes a strangled noise and draws a ragged breath. "You're the first person to ever say we look alike."

"I didn't say you look alike," I correct her. "I said there's just something about her that made me know she was your sister. Something in your smiles."

Everdeen pushes a clump of damp hair out of her eyes. "Yes, she's my sister," she says quietly. Pain anchors her words. There is definitely a story here, one that she's obviously not ready or willing to tell me. I can't push her. But I need to do something fast to make her eyes stop looking so forlorn. The hurt on her face makes my own heart ache in reply.

"If you win," I venture, "I don't want you parking my car anywhere near Delly's next week."

I still have the utmost faith that I'm going to be victorious come Friday afternoon, but the insinuation I make to sweet Delly's abysmal parking record has the intended effect. The veil of anguish on Everdeen's face lifts. She gives me a coy smile.

"Do I sense worry, Mellark?"

I close the distance between us and drag my thumb along her temple, edging back the same strands of hair that are again plastered to her sweaty skin. "Never," I murmur. When I see her shiver, a shudder of my own skitters down my spine. "You sure you're done in here? I could use a spotter…"

Her throat bobs as she swallows. I fully expect her to bolt to the locker room, as she always does when something passes between us, like it just did.

"Okay," she acquiesces, throwing her towel over one shoulder and starting for the bench press. She blinks at me and gives me a look that clearly says, 'what the fuck are you waiting for, this was your idea,' so I wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my shorts and lie down on the bench. I don't miss the way Everdeen's eyes sweep over my bare chest, and my ego does a little dance. I grip the bar, lower it to my chest, and start to lift.

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

I pound my pillow in frustration and stare blankly at the red numbers on my digital clock. Sleep has evaded me; usually I'm so beat at the end of the day that my eyes are cemented shut before my head hits the pillow. But I suspected when I slipped between the sheets nearly three hours ago that slumber wouldn't come easily tonight.

It's all _his_ fault. And I hate myself for even acknowledging that fact, but I know damn well Peeta Mellark is the reason that I can't sleep. My body is restless and my brain is over stimulated, repeatedly conjuring up graphic images of him. Each time I close my eyes I see that perfect body of his: the smooth planes of his chest, the concave dip leading to his solidly muscular stomach, the beautifully cut indentation of his outer abs, the trail of fine blond hair that disappeared into his shorts…

Fuck. I can't stop thinking about what lies beneath those shorts and what what lies beneath those shorts could do to me. I should stop fighting it and just give in to the stupid tingling below my navel and finally get some sleep. God help me, I need a release so bad.

I bite my lip and bunch up the hem of my camisole as I begin to slip my hand past the waistband of my pajama bottoms. I tip my head back on the pillow and sigh, my fingers trekking lower and lower…

A loud ping from the nightstand forces me to retract my hand. Exasperated, I grab my phone.

_**Mellark, Peeta**_

_Today 2:03 a.m._

_Bet you wish it were my fingers touching you right now. _

Holy. Shit. I sit upright, and my phone slips from my grasp, landing in the tangle of sheets. My heart starts thumping as I pick it up.

What the fuck.

There's no message from Peeta. Instead I find a spam text—at two o'fucking clock in the morning, really? I slam down the phone in frustration. My traitorous imagination had to have played a cruel trick on me. I flop back against the pillows, mind reeling. I wish the damn message had been from Darius, telling me something was going down at the warehouse. I'd gladly have thrown on clothes and driven to Seam Street—I'd have welcomed the distraction, actually.

I stare at the ceiling, desperately struggling to keep those blue eyes out of my thoughts. But it's pointless. When my mind wanders right back to Mellark, I force myself to think of all the places I'm going to take his precious BMW when I win that stupid bet. I will not lose. I _cannot _lose.

* * *

On Friday afternoon I can barely contain my glee—I'm dangerously close to actually dancing around the station. The clock above Mags's desk says 4:55. My phone says 4:56. I clench my fists to channel some of my nervous energy, but try as I might I can't stand still. I don't even really care about the car. Besting Mellark is the bigger prize. Bragging rights will last far longer than the week I'll spend behind the wheel of his roadster.

"There's no way…I'm up by four arrests…it's over!" I crow to Mason.

"Well where the fuck is he?" she asks. "I haven't seen him since lunch."

"He's probably off licking his wounds somewhere," I reply, checking the clock again.

"Speak of the Devil." Mason jerks her head towards the entrance, where Mellark stops and places one hand on the doorframe, his posture oozing bravado. My heart plummets into my stomach, nausea roiling rapidly. The swagger in his step as he starts to walk towards me, coupled with that fucking cocky smile, tells me he's up to no good.

Shit, why does he have to have such a killer smile?

Despite my trepidation, I feign confidence, smiling tightly and striding up to him. "Have you been avoiding the inevitable, Mellark? Hiding out, not wanting to face me until the very last minute? Because if you'll take a good careful look at that chalkboard—"

"Oh, Everdeen," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder, "you were so close. So very, very close. I must commend you for the fight. You were quite the competition. And you almost had me…" He whistles through his teeth and winks at me.

My jaw drops as Leeg and Mitchell parade a line of what must be twenty guys through the room towards the holding cells. I shake my head numbly, bracing myself for the explanation. Mellark gives me that smile again.

"Prostitution sting I've been running since the beginning of the month. Arrested twenty-two guys for solicitation this afternoon."

"That's not a felony!" I protest, my voice rising at least an octave. "Solicitation is not a felony!"

He squeezes my shoulder a little and his satisfied smirk spreads. "It is if it's a second offense…which it is, for eight of them. Fun fact, one of them is actually named John!" He marches over to the board, grabs the chalk, and twists his body so he's half facing me. "Help me count these, Everdeen? Eight…nine…ten…11…12…13…14…15…well, would you look at that? Fifteen for me, 11 for you, and…." He gives the clock a pointed look, and he also pulls his iPhone from his pocket and shows me the screen. "Three, two, one…time's up!"

I can only shake my head at him, total disbelief seizing me. I've lost. He's won.

The entire station is watching us, as he yanks open his top desk drawer, pulls out a long wand of some sort, and aims it at me. With a shake, confetti explodes everywhere. Our desks look like a rainbow projectile-vomited everywhere, and that's about how I feel too.

Mellark takes one of his Doves, pins me with his sparkling eyes, and slowly places the candy on his tongue. "Victory is sweet," he mumbles around the chocolate. He extends his hand and offers me one. "But I can't promise that might not taste a little bitter."

How the fuck was I ready to rub one out while fantasizing about this guy last night? Right now I have nothing but the urge to smack him right in the middle of his muscled chest. But he will not get the best of me, not even as I concede defeat. I set my shoulders and raise my chin, then look him straight in the eyes.

"Congratulations," I say. My arm feels like an anvil as I extend it to him. He drops the candy back onto his desk and I gasp as he plants one hand on the small of my back and tugs me right against him. I smell the chocolate on his breath as he drops his head slightly, and my heart thumps wildly against my ribs.

"I hope you're free tomorrow night. Because I've had it marked on my calendar since the day we made this bet. And I've already been very patient, Katniss."

The way he drags out the last syllable of my name turns my spine to butter, and slick heat pools between my legs at the wanton tone of his voice. I can't want him like this. I should be horrified right now. I've lost a competition—I hate losing. And he's infuriating.

So in spite of the way his gaze has my body singing and my nipples tightening and my panties getting wetter, I purse my lips at him and say, as nonchalantly as I can, "Might as well get it over with…sure, tomorrow will work. I'll clear my schedule."

His eyes sparkle, two big blue sapphires trained on me. "I'll pick you up at 6. Wear something nice."

I glare back. "You know where I live?"

He smirks. "I wouldn't be a very good detective if I didn't." He drops his palm from its perch just above my ass and gives me one last lingering look before he backs away. I watch numbly as he makes the rounds through the room, high-fiving Odair and a few others in celebration.

I make sure to catch his eye, however, when I erase the chalkboard and wheel it back into storage.

* * *

Mason and Cresta offer to take me for consolation drinks after work that evening. I text my roommate, Madge, and she agrees to join us after her workout, so the three of us are one margarita in by the time she arrives.

"So when does he hand over the keys to that gorgeous car, Katniss? When do I get a joy ride?" Madge asks the second she's slid into the booth beside me. I sigh and shake my head as I plunge a chip deep into the guacamole. Madge's blue eyes round and she gapes at me.

"You lost?"

"She lost," Mason pipes up, smirking. "And now she's got a hot date with a smoking hot blond cop tomorrow night."

"Johanna, shut up," I grit out around my mouthful of chip.

"You're going out with him tomorrow?" Madge squeals.

I roll my eyes and snag another chip. "Why prolong the torture? I'll get it over with, and then maybe Mellark will leave me alone and move on to tormenting his next victim."

Mason snorts and licks some salt of the rim of her glass. "You are so fucking dense."

"Here we go," Cresta murmurs, raising a brow at Madge and me.

I sit back against the booth and fold my arms across my chest. "Okay, enlighten me, Jo. Why am I so fucking dense?"

"Because he likes you, Brainless. He likes you and this isn't just a bet to him. This is the only way he could get you to agree to go out with him, yes, but you can bet he is going to make damn sure you know how he feels tomorrow night."

Ignoring the jittery feeling in my lower abdomen and the weird hiccough my heart makes, I take a hasty sip of my drink to temper my reaction. "How are you so sure of this?"

Mason smirks again. "I have a way of getting men to talk…and Odair has a big fucking mouth." She catches her words and holds up a hand. "Relax, Annie, not at all what I meant. I mean we're partners. He tells me stuff."

Cresta blushes, as she comes to the conclusion that Odair has probably talked to Mason about their not-so-secret relationship too.

I sit in silence for a moment, processing this little nugget of information. I still can't figure out why Mellark is so hung up on me. Women throw themselves at him all the time. I don't think I'm that particularly pretty, though a fair share of guys in college and my friends have often disputed that. And I'm not that nice to him. Okay, I'm almost never that nice to him. I certainly don't make doe eyes at him and look at him like he hung the moon.

"What would be so wrong with falling for him, Katniss?" Madge asks gently. "Is it because you're partners? I thought there wasn't a rule against that…"

"There's not," Mason and Cresta interject in unison. They look at each other and both laugh—though I have to wonder if Mason is referring to all the times she hooked up with Gale when he was still at 12, or if there's someone else she's doing and not telling us about.

"Katniss," Madge urges again, "it's been forever since you went out on a date. I never even hear you mention guys…other than Mellark, you know."

"I don't mention Mellark!" I retort hotly. Madge gives me a dubious look.

"You kind of do. You talk about him a lot. You just don't realize you're doing it." She smiles and pats my hand reassuringly. "And that's okay…I don't know why you're so opposed to letting a devastatingly handsome, very successful man treat you like a queen for a night…or more."

I'm not sure if it's the tequila I'm guzzling down or the disturbingly logical points Madge is making, but my head is getting fuzzy and I'm getting more and more confused. "It's just one stupid date!"

All three of them look at me, matching expressions of skepticism on their faces. "If you say so, Katniss," Cresta says.

Funny thing is I don't believe myself either.

* * *

_**Author's Note—**Sorry for the delay in getting the rest of this posted. I hope to finish it up very soon. And thank you for all the well wishes that made their way into my in-box recently. I've had a rough September, between a death in the family and an insurmountable amount of work being back at school, and it just knocked me down as I adjusted, and beta work came first in my spare time. _

_As always, this is for iLoVeRynMar. I love you. Thanks for being my rock. All mistakes/errors are mine. _

_Thanks for reading. _


	5. Chapter 5

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

I lose the battle I've been fighting for days not to jerk off as I'm getting ready for my date with Everdeen. While I shower, I summon the image of her in front of the kickboxing bag, all sweaty and breathless, and allow myself to imagine I'm the reason she's in that state. Lathering up my hand, I wrap it around my rigid shaft and start pumping. My palm glides up and down easily, aided by the soap, and I brace one hand on the wall as my breathing accelerates. I lick my lips and think about flicking my tongue over her nipples, her breasts in my face as she straddles my lap. It doesn't take long before I'm cupping the head of my cock as I come hard. The water quickly washes away the evidence of my orgasm, and I let the tremors of pleasure subside before I finish scrubbing my stomach and upper thighs. I needed that.

It's not like I have any expectations for this evening. I harbor a faint glimmer of hope that Everdeen could be weakening when it comes to admitting she might want me even a fraction as much as I want her, mostly because of the little moment that passed between us in the break room. I think I could have kissed her then. I don't think she would have resisted me, at least not at first. After a few seconds I probably would have gotten slapped, once her brain caught up with the rest of her body.

As I button my shirt and step into my pants, a tiny smile plays on my lips when I consider the agenda for the night. I had agonized over what kind of date to plan, and I had been faced with several options. The first was to go completely casual—take her for pizza or to a movie, both of which scream, 'this is normal and I've done this with a ton of other girls.' So I scratched that. Then I debated making reservations at a five-star restaurant, not only to really spoil her, but also to exploit her love of food. But something tells me Everdeen is not the kind of woman who wants to wear an evening gown as she eats, and with my luck, she'd think I was flaunting my money or something. I know she already thinks I'm some kind of spoiled trust fund brat on account of my BMW.

So I went with the last alternative—the unexpected. The wicker picnic basket is packed to the brim, my miniature Igloo is filled with ice, housing a bottle of champagne and the oysters (the riskiest thing I've planned, because she'll probably side-eye me for including a known aphrodisiac on my menu), and the massive green tartan blanket is neatly folded on my back seat.

I'm technically overdressed for our destination, but I told Everdeen to dress nice, and she could have interpreted that a number of ways. So to play it safe, I'm wearing the same clothes I wear to work daily: a very nice button-down shirt and dress pants. I've left the top two buttons of the shirt open and opted for no tie.

Flowers were another dilemma I faced. I thought about a big showy bouquet, but I hadn't the slightest clue what kind of flowers Everdeen favors, or if she even likes flowers at all. I've never seen them on her desk, not even on her birthday (May 8th, I know that even without the little iPhone reminder). So I bought a single long-stemmed peach rose. Its unique pale orange hue caught my eye, and it seemed a safe bet.

As I pull up to her building, my heartbeat quickens and I feel like a teenager. I'm legitimately nervous and I don't get nervous often.

With a deep breath, I head up to her door, rose in hand, and I ring the bell beside her name. She lives in a large, restored brownstone that's been converted into three apartment units, so I stand on the stoop and wait someone to come open the door.

A pretty blonde woman appears and gives me a knowing smile.

"Hey, you must be Peeta." She extends a hand. "I'm Madge, Katniss's roommate. I've heard sooooo much about you."

"Oh god, that doesn't sound good." I laugh. I can just imagine Everdeen getting home from the station, venting about me to this poor girl for hours.

But she just winks and motions for me to follow her up a flight of stairs.

"Have fun you two," says Madge, and she vanishes immediately, leaving me alone in the tiny foyer with Everdeen.

To say that Everdeen looks beautiful would be a gross understatement. All I can do is stare, because I've never seen her like this. For starters, I can't recall a time when her long dark hair hasn't been swept up in a ponytail or plaited into a braid. Tonight it's coiled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck, a few loose tendrils framing her face. Her silver eyes are like smoldering charcoals under her shimmering eyelids. Her cheeks are dewy and her lips a glossy peach.

And her dress…good fucking lord, her dress…the black halter dress hugs her body in all the right places. The swells of her breasts peek invitingly over the edges of the plunging neckline. Her strappy heels put her a little closer to my height and enhance her toned legs.

She fidgets a little, probably uncomfortable under my blatant stare, because I can't seem to get my mouth to form words or my legs to move on their own accord. Her hands skim her hips, smoothing the dress down, and she tugs at the hem, as if she's trying to make it longer than where it hits mid-thigh.

Beautiful doesn't begin to do her justice. She's fucking breathtaking.

"Hey," she says.

"Hi." I hand her the rose. I want to gush about how sexy she looks and how I've wanted this for so long. But she's watching me a little warily (I think), and so I rein in my reaction. "You look gorgeous."

"This is so not me," she replies, gliding one hand along her hip and thigh again, all but dismissing my compliment. My eyes are drawn to her hand, still caressing her hip. She has no idea how even such a simple gesture from her turns me on. "Thank you for this," she adds, raising the rose. She picks up a small vase from the little table behind her and she walks over to the kitchen. Once she's filled the bud vase with water and stuck the rose inside, she hesitates.

"Do I need a coat?"

"Ah, yeah, it could get cold."

She frowns a little, her nose crinkling as she does. She suddenly looks apprehensive. "Wait…am I dressed…I mean…is this…? I can change."

I step towards her and shake my head. "You're fine. You're more than fine. Don't you dare change." I can hear the lust choking my voice, but I don't give a shit. I think she senses it too, because the bob of her head is imperceptible, like it's taking a great effort to nod, and she takes a deep breath.

"My..uh…coat is in there." She points to the door behind me. I step aside and allow her to grab a long sweater-type thing that doesn't really look like a coat. She drapes it over the crook of her arm, and I say a silent thank-you that she doesn't cover herself up yet. She calls to her roommate and then leads me downstairs.

She stops beside my car and runs a hand along the door panel. "I have to be honest, Mellark, I half expected you to pick me up in one of the squad cars, since you know...I lost. Figured I forfeited the right to be inside your precious ride."

I reach for the door handle, but pause so that we're just centimeters apart. "You really think I'd be like that?" I ask softly. She looks down at her feet, and I crook one finger and tuck it under her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes once more. "Do me a favor. Let me have my victory. Let me pretend for a few hours that you don't mind being with me and this isn't a chore for you to be here. And one more thing—please don't call me Mellark tonight. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers, her voice tremulous.

"Okay, good." I open her door and as she moves to slide inside, I curve my hand around her hip, pulling her back against me so my mouth is right beside her ear. "You really do look incredible, Katniss."

She turns, our faces now mere centimeters from each other. "Thank you, Peeta," she says softly, her eyes dropping to my mouth for a fleeting second before she settles down in the front seat. I climb in behind the wheel, and I see her eyes roaming around the interior, taking it all in, and I wait for her to make some derogatory comment, but she says nothing.

Initially, we ride in silence. It's not an uncomfortable silence, but there's definitely an unsettled energy in the air. Katniss gazes out the window, her fingers once again playing with the material of her dress, and occasionally the hem shifts up enough that I catch a glimpse of the smooth skin of her upper thigh.

"So, um, that sting you ran—the one that beat me?" she starts.

"Katniss, this is a date. Let's not talk about work, okay?"

She stiffens in her seat a little and those mercury eyes glint. "You don't talk about work on your dates?"

I depress the brake and let the car idle as we come to a red light. "I try not to. Our jobs consume us enough as it is. I like a break from it all once in a while." I can't resist the opportunity to dig a little though. "Why, you like to make work a topic of conversation on your dates?"

She presses her lips together and shrugs. "I don't date much." She avoids my eyes and stares straight ahead.

She's a terrible liar, so I know she's telling me the truth. And as happy as it makes me to hear her say it, as opposed to just hearing Mason claim it, I have to wonder why Everdeen keeps herself so closed off. And she's fucking hot, so I find it hard to believe guys don't ask her out, but maybe she's one of those women who just will never accept her hotness. It seems like it's a touchy subject though, like so much else with her, and I don't want to kill the mood and ruin this night. If it's the only night I'm going to get with her, I need to make every moment count.

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

I watch the streetlights go by in staccato blurs as I wait for Mellark to say something. I assume that he's mulling over my comment that I don't date, and I can only imagine the ammunition I've just given him to use against me when we're back at work.

"So, ah…where are you taking me?"

His lips curve into a coy smile, and he takes his eyes off the road for a moment to look at me. "It's a surprise."

"A surprise?" I narrow my eyes at him, but he just gives me that same unnervingly sexy smile and nods. I sit back and gauge our surroundings as he drives. We're going away from downtown, and it seems that, unless he's taking me to the small airport on the edge of the city limits to fulfill one of those ludicrous fantasy dates he had been goading me with, we're heading for the next town over, or beyond. My curiosity is definitely piqued.

"I have to admit, I would have been okay with the football date."

"Football date?"

"Yeah, when you were talking about all the things you could do if you won…you had bragged that you were going to put your victory up on the JumboTron…"

"Oh, I can still do that," he promises, a wicked gleam in his eye. "But I didn't give much real thought to that one." He pauses. "You'd actually like that?"

I shrug. "I love football."

He raises his brows and I can tell I've surprised him. "I…I never would have assumed that." He clears his throat. "That's…cool. Guys love it when a woman knows her sports." He coughs again. "See, this is the kind of stuff that I'd like to know about you, Katniss."

"That I like football?"

"Just…stuff. The little things. I mean, I think I've done a decent job gleaning what I can from simple observation over the years, but we're partners…it's nice to share things."

I close my eyes. This is exactly what I don't want to do. I don't want Peeta Mellark to know things about me. Because okay, yeah, maybe it's not a big deal if he knows my favorite sport, or how I take my coffee, or that I like the plain glazed donuts best, but once I start opening up to him with little things, it won't be long before he wants to know more, like the deep stuff.

"Katniss?" His voice shakes me from my reverie. I glance over. His hands are no longer on the steering wheel, and the car is no longer moving. Wherever he's taking me, we've already arrived. I sit up and peer out the window into the bruised twilight sky.

We_ are_ at the airport. What. The. Fuck.

"Trust me on this…I swear I'm not kidnapping you and whisking you away to Paris," he says softly. I guess he does remember some of the outlandish dates, too. He opens his door and the interior lights come on. My confusion must be palpable, and maybe I look a little wary, because instead of getting out of the car, he leans across the console and cups my cheek tenderly. "Katniss, please don't look so horrified." I can see a faint trace of hurt or something in his eyes, and I immediately feel guilty that he thinks this whole night must be akin to torture for me. And it's not that. It's that Mellark keeps surprising me, and every time a new layer of him is revealed to me, it unsettles me more. It would be far easier if he were the cocky womanizer I've always pegged him to be. I can't allow myself to think he's the kind of man I could fall in love with.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper. "I'm—I'll be better."

"Good," he murmurs in reply. His thumb skirts the bottom of my lip, and I have the sudden urge to purse my lips and kiss it. But I don't, and he offers a reassuring smile before breaking away and finally climbing out of the car. I do the same and loiter by my door as he retrieves a massive basket and a small cooler from the tiny trunk.

"Can you grab that blanket?" he asks me, and motions to the back seat of his car.

"Oh…sure."

He waits until I have the blanket and my sweater in my arms, and then he motions for me to follow him across the parking lot, away from the tarmac.

The airport isn't huge; it's just a tiny facility used by local pilots and the occasional flight school. There are two larger commercial airports in the greater metro area, so the air traffic here is minimal. I've only been here twice, as a matter of fact, and both times were on cases where private planes needed to be searched.

"Please tell me that you don't keep your jet here," I joke, as he sets down the basket and cooler reaches for the padlock on the chain-link fence.

"No jet," he says softly, releasing the lock. He pushes open the gate and grabs his things. "And relax, we're not breaking and entering. I can see the cop in you mentally assessing the circumstances."

He's right, of course. I'm beyond curious now as to why he's brought me here, why he has a key.

"I thought about this night a lot," he says, leading me out into a wide field that runs the length of the western edge of the airport. "And it would have been easy to take you to a nice restaurant, and stare into those pretty silver eyes over flickering candlelight, and spend a lot of money on a fancy meal that we'd both enjoy…"

I hold my breath. The intimate tone of his voice has my body erupting in goose bumps, and a delicious shiver runs through me.

"But this is one of my favorite places, and so I wanted to share it with you." He stops in the middle of the field. After setting down the basket and cooler again, he reaches for the blanket in my left arm. I'm still paralyzed, and I barely feel him pluck it from my grasp. He unfolds it and turns away from me, snapping it out in the gentle night breeze. Carefully he spreads it out and then offers me his hand.

"Have a seat."

My legs are stiff and trembling slightly, and I fear my knees will buckle when I try to move. Mellark has thrown me so far off-kilter already that I don't trust where this evening could go, where I could let it go.

Still, I ease myself down without taking his hand, because if he touches me right now, I fear I'll do something I'll regret.

If spurning his hand affects him, he doesn't show it. He kneels down beside me, as I tuck my legs under my body as best I can in the ridiculous dress Madge insisted I wear. I'm so not comfortable in things that show this much skin, and as I shift and try to find a position that won't give Mellark a free peep show, I'm actually mildly irritated that he told me to dress nice if he was planning to have us sitting on a damn blanket in the middle of a field.

So I have to ask, "If you knew you were taking me here, why did you tell me to dress nice?"

His smile is positively carnal as his eyes roam over me. "I still won a bet, Everdeen. Seeing you in that dress is as much a prize as I could have hoped for."

I'm glad that the lights from the airport's lot don't reach very far and therefore it's too dusky for him to see the blush that heats my cheeks.

He begins to unpack the basket, and the first thing he pulls out is several old-fashioned Mason jars, each of which has a tea light votive in its base. He arranges them on the blanket and lights them one by one, their soft glow casting shadows on his face. I have to swallow, because he looks so impossibly sexy, the muted candlelight highlighting the contours of his cheeks and jaw. I chance a peek at the hollow of his throat. I have the sudden impulse to dip my tongue into it.

Then he hands me two champagne flutes and I clutch them while he fiddles with the foil at the top of the bottle he removes from the cooler. There's a pop and a sharp hiss. He holds my gaze while he fills both glasses with the champagne. He rests the bottle back in the ice and takes one glass from me.

"To lost wagers," he says, clinking his glass against mine.

"Cheers," I whisper, gulping down the champagne. Maybe a little alcohol will soothe my frayed nerves. He studies my empty glass, his eyes narrowing pensively, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he continues to unpack the basket, laying out all sorts of containers and bowls on the blanket. I gape at the spread once he's done.

"Where did you get all this?" I ask, awed.

"I made it," he replies. He grabs one last item from the cooler and shoves it away a short distance.

"You…made everything?" Now I'm dumbstruck. I don't know what lies beneath all the covers and Saran wrap, but I've never had a guy even make me a peanut butter sandwich, let alone go through what appears to be this much trouble.

"Yep." He takes the foil off the plate from the cooler and places it in front of me. "Something wrong with that?"

I shake my head and look him right in those incredible blue eyes. "I think you keep surprising me, Peeta."

He gives me a look that tethers right to my core and his voice is pure eroticism when he whispers, "Oh, I'm just getting started."

* * *

_**Author's Note-**Thanks so much for the lovely reviews and comments to Chapter 4. I finished up on a special project this weekend, and did some beta work, not to mention did a ton of school work, and so I thought you'd rather have this update than my replies this go-round. But I appreciate every one of them, and I'm so glad that you're all enjoying this. _

_iLoVeRynMar…love you. And all mistakes are mine. _


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note-**As RynMar likes to call this, this is the bday gift that just keeps giving. I'm glad you're all enjoying it as a short ficlet, rather than a lengthy one-shot. We're inching closer to Everlark smut, I promise!_

_Again, this was not intended to be a full-fledged story, so some minor liberties have been taken with police/FBI protocol. All mistakes are mine. _

_RynMar, this is for you, as always. _

_(And I'm glad I've converted some people to Brooklyn Nine-Nine viewers. Yay!)_

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

Electricity crackles in the air and pulses between my legs as Peeta continues to appraise me like I'm the only thing he wants to eat tonight. We haven't done a thing but sit together on a blanket in the middle of an airport field and this is already the best first date I've ever had. That thought alone should be enough to have me feigning an emergency, fleeing the scene of the crime, and begging him to take me back home.

He reaches over and winds his index finger around one of the tendrils loose by my ear. "Are you hungry?" he asks.

I nod. "Famished."

He releases my hair and grins. "Good." He tugs the uncovered plate closer to us and picks up a tiny little fork. "You like oysters?"

"No. I-I've never had them. I'm, uh, kind of a…" How do I say that my idea of appetizers is wings or nachos, not the fancy seafood he's offering?

He seems to understand without me uttering another word. After squeezing a wedge of lemon over the oyster, he uses the little fork to pry the chunk of meat away from the shell. He pauses. "Did you, ah, want to use the fork, or try it right from the shell?"

_Whichever will make me look less idiotic_ is what I want to say. "The fork is fine," I reply. I wait for him to pass it over to me. But he cautiously raises his hand and lifts the fork to my mouth. My lips part, more out of shock that he's actually_ feeding_ me, and very gently I feel him push the fork past my teeth to deposit the oyster on my tongue. I chew once, moving my jaw slowly, then I swallow the slimy bite.

_Holy shit._ Is this why they say oysters make you want to fuck? It's not that I'm really that impressed with the taste, but I am entirely turned on by the experience, especially with the way Peeta watches me, an enthralled look on his face.

"Good?" he whispers.

"Different." I run my tongue over my teeth, the residual grittiness coming away, and I swallow once more. He smiles and works at another oyster. He sets down the fork and cups the shell in his hand, bringing the narrow end to his mouth. It's my turn to watch, transfixed, as he tips the oyster directly into his mouth. My breath catches somewhere between my lungs and my throat as I take in the sight of him savoring the delicacy. After he swallows, his tongue swipes the circumference of his lips once.

I'm dead. I'm never going to be able to sit across from this man and study photos of corpses and crime scene evidence without thinking of this moment. My stomach is a mass of fluttering creatures that threaten to take up flight higher in my chest. He's slowly chipping away at that wall around my heart—and I'm in fast need of some mortar.

"So…ah…what else did you make?"

He grins and begins unwrapping and uncovering things, rattling off all sorts of terms that I've only heard before when Mags leaves the station TV tuned to Rachael Ray. His enthusiasm is infectious. He's truly excited as he explains the things he's prepared, and all I can do is stare. And drool. And stare more. I might even moan. There's some kind of shrimp salad and potato salad, an assortment of cheeses and crackers, and fruit. He sounds almost modest as he explains that he made the sourdough bread that the turkey, brie, and apple Paninis are on. It's the nicest picnic spread I could have possibly imagined.

"You made all this. Like, from scratch?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"Ah, yeah," he admits sheepishly. "I like to cook…and bake."

I gape at him. "The stuff you bring Mags…the coffee cakes and the muffins and the brownies…"

He removes two plates from the basket and closes the lid. "She's a great guinea pig. She'll eat any of my experiments."

A thousand questions race through my mind. I know I really shouldn't ask any of them, because asking questions invites answers, and answers mean learning more than I might want to know about Peeta Mellark.

* * *

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

Katniss looks like she's in pain from whatever is going on in that pretty little head of hers as she gapes at me. I wish I knew what she was thinking, but perhaps it's better that I don't. Something tells me that I won't like it.

"Here, help yourself. Go ahead." I hand her a plate and urge her to start eating. Her lips twitch, and she says a quiet thank-you as she takes the plate from me. I sip my champagne and observe her eyes darting from dish to dish, as if she doesn't know where to start.

"Aren't you going to eat?" she asks while scooping up some of the shrimp salad.

"I think I'll just sit back and watch you enjoy yourself."

"Peeta!" she protests. "You have to eat! There's no way this is all just for me!"

I reach past her and pluck a strawberry from the bowl of fruit. I don't miss the way her eyes drop to my lips as I take a bite of the berry. She glances away and picks up her Panini.

"Oh my God, Peeta…" she moans in appreciation, and both my ego and my cock swell a little at the pleasurable sound. It's so fucking hot hearing her gasp my name like that. Her jaw moves slowly as she visibly savors the tastes on her tongue. "Caramelized onions too?"

I grin, pleased that she likes it. "Yeah, it goes well with the apple."

I can see her tongue moving again, and once she swallows, she takes another big bite. "God this is so good. How do you go to Sae's as much as you do, when you can make this?"

I snag another strawberry. "I enjoy cooking, but it's not much fun to do it alone…for one person, I mean. That's why I tend to bake more. That stuff I can give away to Mags, or my doorman, or leave out at the station for everyone."

"If you weren't such a damn good cop I'd tell you that you should open up a restaurant," she mumbles around her mouthful. I'm not sure she even realizes the compliment that she just gave me, and while it would be easy to tease her and further inflate my ego by calling her on it, I feel like I'm making some progress, however minor it might be, so I let it slide.

"It's funny you said that…my grandfather had one. A bakery-slash-delicatessen. He's the one who taught me everything I know."

"Really?" She looks intrigued. I scoot a tiny bit closer to her on the blanket.

"Yeah…I used to love hanging out in the kitchen when I was younger. Watching him, sneaking things off the prep counters…" I trail off before I get too choked up and she realizes the weight of emotion anchoring my voice. Not that I mind giving Katniss a window into my past—I'm not at all opposed to letting her in the way that she seems to be with me. I just don't want to get all weepy on her and have her think I'm some kind of pussy. For all I know, she might already think that, on account of the baking. I took a lot of shit for it in college and during the academy…until my friends started reaping the benefits of what I'd make.

"Well, he must be an incredible teacher, because you learned well. This—" she waves her hand over the blanket. "This is all amazing."

"He was, he was the best."

She turns and stares at me, chewing carefully. After she swallows, she sets her plate down beside her and wipes her mouth with one of the linen napkins I brought. The angle at which she's sitting now, facing me, pushes her breasts together, creating more cleavage. I should not be ogling her tits in this moment, as much as I want to—God help me I want to. But I think we're connecting and that's more important than getting an eyeful of her amazing breasts.

"Was it recent?" she asks, tenderness in her voice.

I shake my head and lean back, brushing my hands over the grass behind me, past the edge of the blanket. "It's been a few years now. He was a good man. I miss him. My dad misses him." And then I pause. There's so much I could tell her about my family, things that might help her understand why I drive my nice car and why I really became a cop. I'm just not sure if tonight is really the time for it. Is it exploitative if I bring it up while I have her alone like this? It probably is...

"The girl in the photograph…my sister…" Katniss mashes her lips together and her shoulders lift as she takes a long breath. "She died eight years ago, along with my father."

Pain curves through me like a hook, sharp, piercing. "Oh God, Katniss, I'm sorry." I don't know what else to say. It's not enough, I know that much. But the pieces are starting to assemble in the puzzle that is Katniss Everdeen.

She smiles humorlessly and blinks. Her gaze is deep and penetrating, and it nearly sucks the air from my lungs. "Drunk driver hit them head on…they were on their way to visit me for parents' weekend my freshman year at college. Broad daylight on a Saturday morning. My mother survived the accident, but she might as well have died too, for the shell of a woman who was left behind."

She starts playing with the fringe of the blanket and shaking her head. I don't dare say a word or ask a question. I'm simply going to let her decide what she shares. Hopefully, my silence gains her trust more than interrogating her could. I cover her restless hand with mine, and I swear the look she gives me reaches inside my stomach and ties all my organs into a taut knot.

And then my fucking phone _rings._

Fuck. Me.

We both release our breath at the same time, and Katniss jerks her hand away. She rubs the back of her neck and evades my eyes.

My phone keeps ringing.

* * *

_**~Katniss~**_

* * *

Peeta mutters a curse as he shifts his weight and pulls his phone from his pocket. A ringing phone can never be ignored, not when you're a cop.

"Mellark," he says. I watch his eyes, but it's not even a second before they're pinned to me. He shakes his head slowly. "Really?…You're sure?...What else did the guy say?" He leans over and places a hand on my knee. The warmth of his palm on my bare skin feels incredible, even if I know his touch is merely to get my attention.

"Your phone. Check it," he says to me, then he goes back to his phone. "Yeah, no, I told her. She's checking."

My heart was already pounding furiously from the heightened intimacy of the moment with Peeta. But now that familiar little jolt of adrenaline pricks it and it accelerates ten-fold. I grab for my purse and rummage for my phone. I enter my passcode and swipe the screen, and it's then I see the new message from Mitchell. It was sent about an hour ago; I never heard the damn thing.

_**(201) 467-3319**_

_Today 6:47 p.m._

_hey Everdeen...just arrested a perp who is muttering something about Seam and a warehouse. Might be related to your case—Ill keep you posted._

I look up and meet Peeta's eyes. I should be flattered and thrilled by how irked he appears right now, our date irrevocably ruined. His phone call is undoubtedly related to this text.

"Right…yeah, we're on our way, Captain..." He disconnects the call with another sigh and shoves it back in his pocket.

"Duty calls," I say, immediately beginning to gather up the containers.

"I'll fill you in in the car." He swears to himself again and blows out the candles, bringing up the flashlight on his iPhone. It doesn't take long for us to pack away the remnants of our dinner, and Peeta grumbles something about not even getting to dessert, while he stacks everything inside the basket. For a brief second, I wonder if he's referring to something delectable that he made or if he had more erotic intentions. To my shock, I find that the loss of both disappoints me profoundly.

Peeta gets us back on the highway, and as he drives, he gives me the details of his call from Captain Abernathy. "Mitchell brought in a guy tonight on suspicion of attempted rape. Heard the girl's cries for help while he was on patrol." Peeta glances over at me. "Cray something or other."

I know the name immediately. "He's got priors. He's been out on parole for the last six months." Things start to come into focus. "And a rape charge would violate that parole, and so the canary started singing to save his own skin."

Peeta hesitates. "Well yes…but no. It's…uh…worse than that. Turns out this Cray asshole has a little side business. He rounds up girls. Young girls. Sometimes very young girls…"

My stomach sours; all of Peeta's delicious food curdles from the nauseating implication. I'm grateful that he trails off and lets my imagination fill in the blanks. In our line of work, it doesn't take much, given the heinous things we've been witness to.

"This girl…was she…?"

"Mitchell didn't stop a rape in progress, Katniss. He stopped a kidnapping. Cray was supposed to make a drop tonight—"

"At the warehouse," I finish his thought. "The traffickers. He works for the traffickers."

Peeta nods. "Cray said that there is another runner. He doesn't know him, doesn't know who he reports to. But the name Cray gave, the one he goes through…" He pauses, not so much for dramatic effect, but I sense he really is trying to wrap his head around the revelation. "It's Seneca Crane."

"What! No fucking way!"

"Yes fucking way."

Seneca Crane was a state congressman who crashed and burned three years ago, when a former aide who he had been sleeping with decided to extract revenge after he ended their affair. With a couple of calculated statements to the press and a few phone calls to the feds, she implied that Crane had an appetite for young flesh. Upon further investigation, his work and personal computers turned up a nauseating amount of child pornography—both male and female. While he escaped serious prison time, thanks to a shark of a lawyer and generous plea bargain, he had no choice but to register as a sex offender, and he was put on ten years probation. As egregious as the child pornography charges were, there's no way he'll escape prosecution and life in prison if he's entangled in this trafficking ring.

I rub my temples, pain suddenly stabbing at my skull and nausea roiling in my gut anew. "God, Peeta, this…it's bigger than we anticipated."

"I agree. If Seneca Crane is involved, he's probably not even the biggest name."

I let his statement settle in my bones.

"Anyway," Peeta continues, "we don't know if this other runner also had a drop scheduled for tonight. Abernathy needs us to stake it out…"

"I sense a 'but' coming," I grouse.

Peeta grimaces. "Yeah, we, ah…we need to stake out the scene, but the feds who are taking over are also on their way. This isn't technically our case anymore."

I nod bitterly. Human trafficking is a federal offense. With this new evidence, the FBI now trumps us in terms of jurisdiction. I slump back in my seat, sulking a little that all the hard work we've put in will be passed along to whichever FBI agent shows up and saves the day. Yeah, it's immature and petty and I know I should just be glad that some truly disgusting people will be off the streets, but the competitive side of me hates being cast aside.

I feel warmth on the back of my hand, and when I glance down I see Peeta's hand covering mine. He gives me a sympathetic look and his thumb rubs over my knuckles gently.

"I know," is all he says.

For the rest of the ride to Seam Street, I can feel the lingering effects of his gentle touch on my hand, and I allow myself to indulge in thoughts of what might have transpired had Peeta and I not been interrupted, how far I might have allowed him to take things. I fight the lure of fantasizing about what his mouth might have felt like on mine if he had kissed me. Would he have kissed me? He would have, right? Wait…did I _want_ him to kiss me?

Dammit, this is exactly why I can't fall in love with Peeta. He's my partner. We're about to stake out a building where all sorts of illicit, illegal shit is happening, and I'm ruminating on how soft his lips might be and what his tongue might taste like teasing mine. This is dangerous on so many levels.

"Katniss?"

God the way he says my name…I almost don't want him to revert to calling me Everdeen.

* * *

_**~Peeta~**_

* * *

I kill the engine and the car quiets. I glance over at Katniss. She's doing that thing she always does, where I can tell her mind is going a mile a minute and her face nearly looks anguished, she's thinking so hard.

"Everdeen?" I try another angle, and saying her last name has her jerking upright in her seat, as if she's been struck by a bolt of lightning. Her eyes are wide as she meets mine. I give her a reassuring smile. "You looked a little lost there."

"No, no," she says quietly. "I'm right here."

"Yeah, well we're here, too." I motion to the warehouse across the street. She nods absently, but there's something unspoken in those quicksilver eyes that strikes me, clutches at my heart. And so before we get out of my car and things undoubtedly go back to whatever passes as normal between us, I unbuckle my seat belt and turn towards her. "Look, Katniss, I just wanted you to know the time I spent with you tonight was worth every minute, even if it got cut short. So thank you for being a good sport about it."

Her silence is deafening. I leave her sitting in the front seat when I hop out and retrieve my stakeout bag from behind the cooler and picnic basket. I sense her behind me.

"You'll want to grab your sweater. You know how cold—"

Her lips are hot when she turns me to face her and she crushes her mouth to mine. It takes me a second to react to the fact she's kissing me, and by the time my mind—and other parts of me—starts to rouse, she's stepped back and she's reaching into the trunk to grab her sweater. My lips tingle from the intensity of the short, passionate kiss.

She doesn't look up as she unfolds her sweater and shakes it out. My fingers curl around her upper arm, stilling her movement. Out of the corner of my eye, I see an older man watching us from the front of the apartment building. Disappointment crests through me like a tidal wave. It all makes sense. She's acting again, playing up the part of the young couple returning home. But there's something about the way this doorman is watching us. I'm sure shifts get switched all the time, but the fact that Darius isn't at the door only exacerbates my uneasiness.

"Here," I murmur, keeping the ruse going, "let me help you with that." She freezes as I gently guide her left arm, and then her right arm, into the sweater. I rub her shoulders a few times and she shudders.

"Thank you," she says.

"C'mon, let's go." We hurry across the road. The doorman tips his hat and opens the door for us. He stares at me for a long second, and something in his steely eyes causes my instincts to heighten.

"I don't like the way he just looked at us," Katniss says to me as we wait for the elevator.

I glance back over my shoulder at the older doorman. "I don't disagree. Something feels off."

We only have my binoculars and camera tonight, since Everdeen doesn't have her bag. Once we reach the roof, I pass the binoculars to her. Now that we have one task—to be on the lookout for the van—she doesn't technically have to do her sweep of the windows, but I know she won't be able to resist.

"Well, there appears to be movement inside," she says quietly. "Third floor."

She keeps the binoculars focused on the warehouse, squatting down to stay out of sight. It can't be comfortable in the dress and heels, but she seems unfazed, completely focused on her task.

I, on the other hand, am a fucking mess. Current hums through my veins, yet there's also a plaintive ache in my gut. I wish I had been aware of her lips on mine sooner. It may have only been for show on her part. But if my reflexes had been quicker, I would have made damn sure she'd still be feeling that kiss Monday morning.

"Mellark? You okay?"

Hearing her say my last name makes my stomach tighten and my heart sink. I give her a weak smile and nod.

"Yeah, I'm good." I crouch down beside her and brace my palm on the ledge. "Can you see anything distinct?"

She shakes her head. "Nah, not yet…" She straightens up a bit, wobbling on her heels, and instinctively I grip her knee to help steady her. "Thank you," she whispers. I can't resist splaying my fingers across her soft skin, and I hear her suck in a breath.

"That was good acting down there. That kiss almost felt real," I say.

She doesn't let me pull away and her voice is husky when she confesses, "Well, I've never been a very good actress."


End file.
